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SHOBAB 



A Tale of Bethesda 



AND MINOR POEMS. 



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NEW YORK: 
N. TIBBAIvS <& SON, 

124 Nassau Street. 

1884. 




"PS3^^C| 






Copyright, 1884, 

BY 

JAMES A. WHITNEY, 
All Rights Reserved. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, 
ANIAZI^VM WHITNEY. 

WHO DIED THIRTY YEARS AGO. 

A MAN OF KINDLY HEART AND GENTLE WAYS, 

WHO, FROM YOUTH TO AGE, 

FEARED GOD AND KEPT HIS COMMANDMENTS. 

THIS VOLUME 
IS REVERENTLY INSCRIBED. 



CONTENTS. 



Shobab, a Tale of Bethesda, - - - 1-145 
Dies Ir/e, .._.-- 146 

Zathan the Sadducee, . - - - 151 

Cymbals, - - - - - - -154 

The Banshee, . . _ _ . 155 

Hours in Scotland, . _ _ . _ 161 

To a Portrait of Nell Gvvynn, - - 170 
Asphodels, ______ 174 

The Monk of Capri, . _ _ _ 177 

On the Hackensack Meadows, - - - 180 

Escambia, ______ 181 

Santa Rosa, - - - " - - - 182 

Lily and Violet, _ _ _ _ _ 183 

Two Roses, - - - - - - 185 

Magnolia Grandiflora, _ _ . _ 186 



SHOBAB: 

A TALK OK BETHKSDA. 



I, Shobab, son of Shimei who wed 
The day the tidings unto Hebron came, 
That in the mouths of the high caves of Seir 
The Hebrews laid dry fagots, and with fire 
Slaughtered the mountain robber in his den — 
Tell this my tale, now that the years remote 
Seem near again, as seems the desert path 
Kenned from the height that marks the journey's 

end 
Through sunset's level light. 



BETHESDA. 



That winsome day . 
Joy ran in rivulets within each heart, 
As wine flowed from the beakers to the lips 
Of all the village; while triumphant notes 
Swept from the harp's strained strings. The war- 
horse loosed 
Sprang with proud curvet in the pasture field, 
Hearing the distant cymbals' lordly clang 
And challenge of the shawm on free winds blown. 
That day was peace. The ox freed from the yoke 
In comfort all unwonted chewed the cud. 
White patient flocks along the wayside grazed 
The bitter herbs, contented; and the dove 
Beneath the eaves cooed loving notes and low. 
Upon the springing wheat the sunshine lay 
And o'er it swept the shadows of the clouds. 
The grass gave forth the murmur of the bee. 
From winding brooks came rustle of the reeds, 
And from beneath the reeds the monotone 
Of rippling waters. And anon, the shout 



BETHESDA. 



Came ringing far, of those rejoicing loud 

That from Seir's caverns nevermore should reach 

The ruffian hordes to spoil the quiet land. 

And with it mingled on the breezy air 

The rhythm of the songs that graced the feast, 

Of this the marriage afternoon, when all 

Was joyousness of triumph, and of love. 

The sun sank from the zenith and its ray 
Was followed by the dusk on gliding wings. 
The soft night followed dusk with gentle feet 
As maidens chase the brown moths mid the ferns. 
Upon her head the stars came forth and shone; 
The cool breeze from the mountains swept her hair, 
For this the gray clouds seemed; and every breath. 
As from her lips, made murmuring soft and low. 
Yet on and on the cymbal and the lute 
And voices shrill and sweet together swam, 
Now high, now low\ And everywhere the mead 
Poured slow and luscious; and the sparkling juice 



4 BETH BSD A. 

Of Hebron's trodden grapes made glad the hour; 

Until the coming of the morning star 

Beheld all slumber-vanquished; all save where 

A slender ray shone on the glistening cup 

Where the glad bridegroom pledged the smiling 

bride 
In one last draught ere tender sleep should come. 

Late the next morning to their tasks afield 

Went laborer and master; for the joy 

Was gone its way, and life began again 

Its old accustomed course. The day and night 

Came, blessing, each in turn. And seasons bore 

Each in its turn the burden of its time. 

So triple threefold months went calmly by: 
And joy unto that dwelling came again. 
Not clamorous as before but all subdued 
To soft low spoken words and tenderness; 
When to my lips they pressed the honey-comb 



BETH BSD A. 



And on them, drop by drop, laid spiced wine, 
Hushing my cry with gently jangled songs 
Breathed pleasant, low, and sweet. 

This have I told 
As long thereafter it was told to me. 
For I knew not the passing of the'years. 
Until it happened that the women cried, 
And all the children silent gazed in awe 
The while, swart armed, the toilers from the field 
Bore to our door a Roman soldier, dead; 
A sickle's jagged thrust across his neck 
And his bright cuirass dabbled with his blood. 
Then hue and cry there was that quick my sire 
Should die the death. But Roman vengeance knew 
No slaking of its thirst; for he was gone 
Unto the farthest nations of the east 
And never more Judean. hill or vale 
Or wife or child beheld. My mother told 
Me how the hireling cursed him. Him, who sprang 



6 BE THE SB A. 

From out the branch of Jesse. Him whose sires 

Had seen the glory of the Lord anear. 

The Roman smote him. Him, a Hebrew, born 

Heir to the glory of this ancient land, 

Son of its kings who ruled o'er all its plains 

Ere yet the distant marshes spawned the crew 

Whose sons on Judah laid their heavy yoke. 

On, through succeeding years that drowsy crept; 

With sorrow duU'd, and with dull'd labor cold, 

We two, alone, a humble shealing held. 

The mother and the child. The reapers knew 

Our loneliness and woe and careful laid, 

As if unheeding, little gavels down 

That we might find them as we gleaned the field. 

And here and there when olive branches gave 

Their last yield to the press, was fruitage still 

A willing guerdon to our anxious quest. 

And so we dwelt, the mother and the child, 

Seeing the springtide and the harvest come 



BETHESDA. 



To Hebron's fertile fields and go away 
And come again. And I grew on, apace, 
Dreaming and wondering of the weary world. 

He who hath seen the cedars on the hills 
May call them to his eye when they are gone. 
Though of the meads that charmed him, nevermore, 
Of slender grass-blades kens he any one, 
So much alike were they and small to see. 
Thus, seven things, to me, of all those days 
Are clear as sight of cedars 'gainst the sky. 
Though all the rest be faded. 

I recall 
That by the wayside once a woman laid 
A brown hand on my head, for she was swart 
As the ripe olive's husk — a little child 
Clung to her garments, and with curious eyes 
Looked up into my face — to me she spake: 
Oh, child, but thou art fair to look upon, 



BETHESDA. 



And innocent thine eyes, and soft thy voice; 

Therefore, I would the marvels that I work 

May bless thee in the passing of thy days, 

That whom I love may blessed be through thee. 

Take then these seeds. Aye, in mine own far land 

The stately symmetry of Theban palms 

Have I beheld, when peace and rest were mine. 

And may they spring from out these kernels dark 

To wave o'er thee in peace ere yet ye die; 

So plant them when thy sorrow comes to thee, 

For they bear charm of many a prayer deep breathed, 

In olden rites the living Lord hath blest. 

And water them as to thy burning heart 

Ye would the coolness of great calm should come. 

The three brown seeds I clasped and she was gone. 

Once, in the dark, my mother crooned a song. 
And slowly on her knee, the while she sang 
She rocked me to and fro. Oh, Father, hear 
Thy loved ones of the earth and take them home, 



BETHESDA. 9 

That they no more may know the Winter's cold 

Or weariness of Summer's wanton heat, 

The toiling of the Springtime, or the wrath - 

Of sullen Autumn's storms; or any more 

The touch of fear on night and morn and noon. 

There they may rest, and there, perchance, may 

sleep 
Withouten dream or any thought of toil. 
Of sorrow, or of pain. 'Twas then I asked: 
Where is this home ? 

And low she answered me. 
These bodies that we have are but the bud 
That holds the odor of the fruiting flower. 
And when it dies the perfume vanishes 
But does not die, but lives within the air. 
Our spirits pass into a world beyond 
Those distant hills, yea, far beyond the sky, 
And there they shall have rest forevermore; 
The peacefulness of all the flowers that lie 



BETHESDA. 



In Summer in the meadows; all the joy 

The bees in Springtime know amid the trees. 

And it shall be forever — for the just, 

The merciful and pure shall enter in; 

And we shall rest. Yea, we shall rest, she said. 

The while she spake, the crescent moon came forth. 

Casting faint shadows on the stubble ground. 

And shining on her face. Then was she still. 

Saying no more, though waiting patiently, 

I listened for her words till wonder grew 

And fear came on me at the peacefulness 

That spread upon her forehead. Long I watched 

Until afield the reapers came again 

In the glad morning sun. And she was dead. 

With scanty rites they laid her in the ground 

And heaped the earth above her, by the road 

The camel drivers traverse, leaving me, 

Unnoting that I lingered. Then I thought 

Of the dark woman's words; and of the seeds 



BETHESDA. 



Laid one upon the mold and pressed it deep 
With weak, tired fingers, weeping all the while 
That she was gone from me. Three times I brought 
From the cool spring and three times watered it. 
So, ere my task was done, the twilight came 
And night wherein I slept and half forgot. 
Then woke to weep again. 

Then mourning days 
And sad months measured their slow length along 
With gradual lessening of the grief they bore. 
Each day brought less of sorrow, for it dies 
Of its own languishing. And memory knows 
Surcease in labor, and in weariness, 
Till like an evanescent shadow seems 
The presence of our woe. So thro' slow lapse 
Came calmness and content, and I was fain — 
After forgetful years had come to me — 
To sing among the reapers: for I learned 



BETHESDA. 



With them to wield the sickle with a hand 
Grown deft and strong. 

Yet solitude to me 
Threw glamour o'er my heart. I sought the vales 
By rugged paths that led to meadows bright 
With flowery garniture and slender grass 
That gave its dusty blossoms to the air 
Ere tiny seeds were ripe. There came to me 
Each song the wild bird whistles in the dusk, 
Or carols at the dawn. I sought the glades 
Where feeble conies bide among the rocks. 
I marked the lichens on the boulder stones 
Rear little purple cups, and wondered oft 
Why sought they not the richer mold below. 
I loved the color of the wayside blooms 
Softened by evening's gray and tender light, 
And fragrant in the early falling dew. 

The torrents change their courses in the glens 
And firm rocks deeper groove beneath the storms, 



BETHESDA. 13 



The tow'ring tree grows hoary with the years 

And time unmakes the contour of the fields. 

But ever breezes blow as in the time 

When all the earth was young; and fares the same 

Each little wild flower by the wayside grown. 

So, when on heart and brain are furrows found, 

Long wrought by tempests that are stilled and gone, 

Waft memories cool and fragrant as the touch 

Of zephyrs born of sunset, and the scent 

From springing trefoil in the herbage brown. 

So I recall from sunset haze remote, 

From scenes of summer blossoms, and the stress 

Of gently blowing winds on herb and tree, 

A little maiden's face; a child she was 

Of soft unconscious grace and tender ways. 

Yea, younger than myself, and innocence 

Shone in her eyes and her fair forehead crowned. 

And all things pure and stainless seemed to me 

To be her kindred in the earth and air. 



14 BE THE SB A. 



I met her in the fields. We chased the bees, 
White-faced and droning, from the thistle tops. 
And wove, of golden daisies, slender chains 
Wherewith to coil her shoulders. Flame-winged moths 
And dotted butterflies to deck her hair 
We caught with nimble lingers and fleet steps. 
And hand in hand we heard the mavis sing 
His welcome to the night, when shadows deep 
Of hasting daylight wasted into dark. 

From this, our earliest greeting, came the course 
Of many eves succeeding. And the tale 
For each was like the other. In the fields 
The springing blade changed into slender spire; 
And swaying spire grew stately in the breeze 
With golden stem and gently nodding head. 
And from the springtide to the harvest time. 
Each twilight like the other in the joy 
Of love unsullied and of innocence. 



BE THE SD A. 15 



The love of youth is gentle, and its touch 

Is like to that which once the prophet's staff 

Gave to the brackish springs of Jericho, 

Beside whose brink no tender herbage grew, 

Or palm bore fruitage, or fair wild bird sang. 

Till suddenly, beneath a holy hand, 

The bitter waters changed, and clear and sweet 

Flowed o'er the barren sands till they were clad 

With waving growth of green, wherein the buds 

Drooped lowly and unkenned; wherein the blooms 

Sprang bright and glorious from the hidden buds; 

Wherein the slender shafts of tufted trees 

Rose skyward from the flowers; and grateful shade 

Was where the aridness of dearth had been. 

So in my heart grew gentleness and trust 

And fervor for well doing all my days. 

Until it seemed, could I but see the ark 

Within our Lord's great temple, and behold 

The seven stems that waxen candles bear, 

That they may light the altar, I would hail 



i6 BETHESDA. 



For her and me a life new born and fair, 

To reach out through the years in peacefulness. 

So when the harvest ended; now, I said, 

I will go thither to Jerusalem, 

Shall see its marvels and return to thee, 

To tell them all unbidden. 

So I went 
And all the wonders saw. But they are hid 
Behind the memories of nearer years. 
All, saving this, a narrow pool that lay 
Beneath high dusky arches where the shade 
Was cool while yet the lurid sun was high. 
A pool around whose edges threads of green 
Lay tangled in loose skeins of slimy drift; 
Above whose lazy ripples spiders swung 
Aloft on tiny ropes of gossamer 
That shone and vanished and then shone again. 
While on the sullen waters pillars threw 
Broad bars of shadow. Quick my questioning 



BETHESDA. 17 



Was answered by a beggar at its edge. 

Why comest thou, the hale, the young, the strong, 

And in mid afternoon. The stricken comes 

At early daybreak when an angel stirs 

To sudden frenzy all the waters calm. 

And he who touches first the fleeting foam 

Is healed of all his trouble. Go thy way, 

This place is not for thee. 

Chilled as with fear 
I quick departed. But my fancy drew 
Within my brain the picture of a form 
Benign of countenance, and stately clad 
In stainless linen that unto his feet 
Swept down in folds majestic, while his hand 
A sceptre held wherewith to move the pool 
To merciful unrest when earliest ray 
Of morning sunlight glinted on its breast. 
This day-dream dreamed I on my homeward way, 
For now three days were vanished and my heart 



BETHESDA. 



Said haste to Hebron, for she waits thee there 
With welcome on her face. The sunshine fell 
And faded in the gloaming, and the moon 
The transient twilight followed with no break 
Or interlude of dark. In silver light 
Was silence as of sadness everywhere. 

Twixt midnight and the dawn, upon my couch, 

I sought for sleep in vain. For sorrow seemed 

To lie upon the air, a hazy woe 

That had no object yet was ever near. 

When weary I arose, I, unsurprised. 

In groups saw all the neighbors speaking low 

Among themselves, as if in wrath and fear. 

And when I asked, they answered, knows't thou not 
The widow's daughter, yea, the little maid 
That met thee in the fields, is slain and all 
Her blood is mingled with the ashen earth. 
A Roman charioteer drove idly by 



BETHESDA. 19 



And seeing her sweet beauty, called to her; 

Whereat she fled. Then his fierce anger rose 

And wheeling the strong steeds he rode her down 

Until her little limbs beneath the hoofs 

Were crushed like willow wands; until the wheels 

Across her breast went crackling as the flail 

Breaks the low sheaf upon the threshing floor. 

And we have laid her by thy mother's grave 

Heaping the earth above her, but her blood 

Is crying from the wayside dust ye trod 

But yestereven. Then the Roman's name 

They spake in whispers, but they threatened naught. 

For he was great and in his iron hand 

Lay life and death for them. 

The grave new-mad 
I sought and in the sunshine smiting down. 
Of the dark seeds the dusky woman gave 
I planted now another. Many times 
From the deep spring I bore the water jar 



BETHESDA. 



And poured upon it that its blade might rise 

In after days to mark the burial place. 

Then, wearied with the lapse of sleepless hours 

And the long journey and my anxious toil, 

I sought the shelter of a dwarfed oak 

And sank to troubled sleep. Within my sleep 

As if through mists unfolded, came the sight 

Of level meadows, low and interspaced 

With winding still lagoons. And here and there 

Upon the trodden fields war horses writhed 

Pierced by hard driven arrows. All around 

The dead men lay with armor on their breasts. 

And nearest of them all, with helmet doffed, 

With broken scimetar in his right hand. 

Lay my proud father's form, his sable beard 

Strown damp upon his corselet. Then the mists 

Were inward rolled again and I awoke. 

Awoke and said: The dim and slender trust 

I had that I might see him ere he died 

Is gone. And all I loved are gone from me. 



BETHESDA. 



Then ere the moisture from the grave was dried 

That I had watered ere my sleep began, 

I digged beside it till the mellowed earth 

Was ready for my purpose. Here I laid 

The last of the three seeds the woman gave, 

And watered it anon, and came away. 

In Hebron dwelt a man, Ben Aiden called. 

And he was hale though threescore years he bore. 

Though silver threads were heavy in his hair 

His eye was kindly and his manner free. 

He scoffed at Pharisee, and no Essene 

Dared measure words with him. For he was learned 

In lore of all the Rabbis, and he knew 

The pagan scrolls that came from distant lands. 

That great Jehovah left in outer dark. 

And far Ben Aiden's name was known. His flocks 

Grazed many a hillside and his herdsmen raised 

Their woolen tents on many a pasture plain. 

I sought the village when my task was done 



BETHESDA. 



Beside the double graves. A high dispute 
Had risen in the crowd. 

By insult stung 
K laborer rose and cursed a Sadducee, 
Ben Aiden's neighbor. When thy bones are dust, 
He said, Thy spirit in the dark shall lie 
Vexed by infernal fire. Thy deeds shall rise 
On thy seared sight. For senses thou shalt have 
To suffer, though thy flesh be passed away 
In noisome odors and to clay more foul. 
And thine own scorn shall mock thee, and thy pride 
Shall be a dungeon for thee evermore; 
While we, the toilers, from thy iron hand 
Released, shall bask in everlasting peace. 
Aye! Go thy way, he said, beneath thy blows, 
Weakened by hunger and by grief distraught, 
Because of thy fierce anger I shall go, 
And thou wilt bide awhile when I am gone. 



BETHESDA. 23 



Yet we will meet again. I wait for thee. 

Yea. At God's Judgment Day, I wait for thee. 

With trembling lips and arm flung high he turned 
And disappeared. Then loud Ben Aiden laughed; 
The beggar, quoth he, sings the ancient song 
And through his nostrils makes the old complaint. 
Then noting how the list'ners shrank to hear 
The fearsome words the angered man had said 
He took a softer tone. 

The dream is fond 
But futile as the idle wind that blows 
And wastes itself afar. Not Abraham, 
Or Isaac, or yet Jacob told the myth; 
For they were wise. But when our fathers bowed 
Beneath the willows of far Babylon, 
Eating the bitter bread of banishment, 
They from their fellow-slaves within the land 
Learned thus to dream. And when they came again 



24 BETHESDA. 



To this their heritage they knew no more 
The simple truth the olden prophet taught, 
He shall come up no more, who goeth down 
Into the silent tomb. But life is sweet 
To him who rails not like yon wrathsome wretch. 
But loves it day by day and feedeth it 
With tribute of the senses in their time. 
Ye know that I, Ben Aiden, am no fool. 
And ken that I am rich. Ye know, my son 
Is favored by King Herod in his pomp. 
*Mong all of Israel's daughters, who more fair 
Than she who calls me father. In my face 
Ye see of health abounding. And mine arm 
Is strong at threescore. Who more blest than I 
Within our Hebron's borders? More than this, 
A few days hence I seek Jerusalem 
That I may higher rise: my voice be heard 
In Councils of the King. Yet through my years 
I've scorned this thought of judgment and of life 
Beyond the burial place. Yea, spat upon 



BETHESDA. 25 



The very altar stones; yea, since my youth, 

Full forty years agone, defied the God 

Ye call Jehovah. And I prosper still. 

And ye, my neighbors, love me for my ways, 

My bluff plain speech, my gifts of wine and oil 

In days of famine. 

With his. arms outspread, 
And sparkling eye and pleasant boastful voice 
He charmed the crowd. And I among the rest 
Admired his mien of valor. Then my gaze 
He caught with jovial glance. Aye, lad, he said, 
Why wilt thou mourn when mourning ever fails; 
Or lean on broken reeds of foolish faith. 
Ye know the fields where, called of Chalcedon, 
The drooping lilies blossom and their scent 
Is heavy on the air. They rise, they bloom, 
They fade and wither and, anon, are gone. 
And others in their places come anew. 
Cans't thou the perfume of the yester year 



26 BETHESDA. 



Gather again for petals dropped and dead. 
When this thou doest, bring the spirit fond 
Back to the eyes that once were bright to thee. 

Heartsick, I faltered. Seeing me aghast, 
For he was kindly in his boist'rous heart, 
I meant no harm, he said, but know the truth 
And face the stormy day that soon may turn 
To warmth of fav'ring sunshine. Come with me. 
I am thy friend and will thee counsel give 
As I myself have followed. All is vain 
That prates of life beyond this pleasant earth; 
And vainer still the prattle that doth say 
Thou shalt deny the pleasure of thy days. 
Thy labor lighten with deep draughts of wine. 
And in thy rest be joyous with the sound 
The straken timbrel gives. For we shall die 
And all be ended then. Again he laughed, 
With his broad hand laid gently on my head. 
Yet seeing me despondent, spake again. 



BE THE SD A. 27 



Aye, merry be, but yet if wrath do come 

Smite hard thy foeman that his fear may be 

A tribute to thy strength in hearts of men, 

And thou be glorified. An eye for eye. 

Yea, tooth for tooth require. So Moses writ. 

And blood for blood. So I, Ben Aiden, add. 

He was so strong his hand a shelter seemed. 

His words were wisdom to me for I knew 

Men called him wise and great; and being kind 

In word and tone, he seemed a friend to me. 

So when he said, come with me, I will make 

Thine heart rejoice within the hour, I went; 

And with him joined the feast where wine was 

flown 
In crystal beakers, and where viands spread 
As I had never known; where dancing girls. 
In silken raiment, from far Egypt brought. 
Wrought sensuous grace of movement in our sight. 
Anear the midnight when the nutty fumes 
With stupor overcome me, for a jest 



28 BETHESDA 



They bore me to the vineyard. In the press 
They laid me on the pomace. At the dawn, 
With laughter loud they sought me and their mirth 
Was praise to me. They said that like a man 
I grasped the goblet filled with mellow wine. 
But yestermorn beneath the temple roof 
I saw the holy ark, and seven branched 
The golden candlestick shed lambent light 
Upon the altar. And my fervent heart 
Was awed and hallowed. Now, an hundred years 
Seemed passed since then. 

As in an archer's hand 
A bow may break and so be thrown away. 
My faith of yesterday was failed and gone 
Into the common wrack of useless things 
Forgotten and forlorn. No more I cared 
To mark the varied glory of the skies 
Or hues within the wild flowers dainty breast. 
The bird-note carolled from the coppiced glens, 



BETHESDA. 29 



Or kraken from the grain, was idle sound 

Waking no chord responsive. In the wheat 

I saw the thin spires dwindle 'mid the tares 

And said, each liveth for itself alone, 

The greater strength doth conquer. From the hills 

I saw the eagle from his high nest drift 

On steady sloping wings and from the fold 

Snatch the weak lamb and lordly soar again, 

Whereon I said. The innocent shall die 

And strength shall conquer still. 

So triple years 
Deepened in me the change, and I grew strong; 
Foremost in labor — yet the first to hear 
The jangle of the cymbal when the day 
Gave way to mirth of even. More than all: 
The readiest to meet the wrestler's skill, 
Or share in festivals the rivalry 
With warrior's shaft and blade. I loved the smiles 
Of bonny brown-eyed maids. From horn or cup 



30 BETHESDA. 



Or hollowed gourd I drank the brimming wine 

In joy or weariness, in rest or toil. 

And morn and noon and night each guerdon gave 

To my full senses and my bounding heart. 

For morn had freshness of the dawn and brought 

Brave thoughts of triumph in the daily toil. 

And noon of languid rest within the shade 

With free songs sung and careless stories told. 

And eve the pleasaunce of dark eyes that shone • 

With light reflected from mine ardent gaze; 

And voices breathing music to the sound 

Of tinkling instruments that gave us mirth 

In steady measure of the graceful dance. 

'Twas long ago. Strong-armed and fleet of limb, 
I climbed the beetling cliffs, and, falcon-eyed, 
Beheld afar the rugged waters flow 
In glittering foam through gorges of the hills. 
And where the fountains shone beneath the moon 
I wooed the maidens from the village strayed. 



BE THE SB A. 31 



Oft in the golden vintage drank the must, 

Joyous that life was sweet and strength was mine. 

Often I hurled the slender javelin 

As never Roman threw it. And the shaft 

Of Parthian archer never from the bow 

Clove the air farther than mine arrows flew, 

I joyed in strength as strong men know of joy, 

As earth rejoices in the glow of sun. 

Or cedars rise exultant in the storm. 

Yea, strong I was. And oft the Roman's name 
Was coupled in my heart with wrathful thought 
Of all his evil deed. I waited long 
To hear that he to Hebron came again, 
Or drove his chariot on the lonely roads 
Among the winding vales. At last he came, 
And passed me scornful as I wrought my task 
Alone within the field. The steeds were strong; 
But I was mightier, and with heavy grasp 
I flung them on their haunches. Quick he sprang, 



32 BETHESDA. 



Short sword in hand. But with deft wrist I turned 
The blade aside. My hand upon his throat, 
A crimson flood from out his nostrils swept. 
I dashed him down upon the rocks that lay 
Below the wayside ledge, and he was still. 
In distant lanes the furious horses reeled, 
Dragging the chariot's broken shaft between: 
And far through all the country went the tale 
How his wild coursers slew him. 

In my joy 
I drank anew the fervor of the vine, 
Welcomed the dalliance of the maidens fond, 
And bore a secret triumph in my heart. 

Aye, that was long ago. There came a morn 
When, from the wassail of the vintage night, 
I went afield and through the darkness passed 
With reckless shout and song; and lo! mine arm 
Was like a spear shaft broken or a blade 



BE THE SD A. 33 



Wherefrom the hilt hath dropt. And all my strength 

Was vanished into fear until the dawn 

And light and warmth came to me, and I rose 

With wondering sadness; and bethought me how 

The pool was troubled, and that healing came 

To those who sought its waters at the morn. 

Then all my haughty spirit rose again 

As I pressed forward, though my wither'd arm 

Hung helpless as I strode. 

The herbage swayed 
Beside my rapid steps until the dew 
Fell glistening on my feet. The air was still, 
Yet seemed a breeze before me, in my face 
Blown silently and cool. Anon, I saw 
The sombre arches and the gleaming pool 
And waiting people there. 

A crippled youth. 
With sinews scorched by fire what time a roof 



34 BETHESDA. 



Fell flaming on his bed, was in my way, 
And I with lusty shoulder threw him by. 
A widow, old and palsied, moaning crept 
Across my path; and I, with sturdy laugh, 
Stepped over and across. And by the brink 
A bUnd man sat, with wavering hands out-thrust 
To feel when first the waters should be stirred; 
And at his cry I saw a ripple drift 
Across the pool, and sprang beyond him far 
Until the healing wave surged on my breast. 
Whole I departed, and with buoyant step 
I sought anew the fountain and the vine. 

For life was sweet, and strength was joy to me. 
And rapid moons went by and earth was fair; 
I saw the white flowers of the olive fall 
As winds swept by them: and beheld the grapes 
Turn dusk and golden on the sunny slopes. 
I watched the shadows sleep beneath the oaks 
That crowned the hills; and the low hyssop grow 



BETHESDA. 35 



Along the curb around the well where shone 
The stars reflected in the summer eve; 
And where the maidens came, and castanets 
Made joyous music for our wanton feet. 

Anon, the must was trodden in the vats, 
The first ripe olives fell, the thistle raised 
Its head above the grain. And once again 
The vintage days were come. 

Aye, long ago 
It was that from the dance, with wine o'erwrought 
Once more I went afield ere yet the dawn 
Touched the tall date tree with its purple ray. 
And wandered where the brambles, wet with dew, 
Clogged my weak feet. 

In dreamless sleep I lay 
Until the high sun smote me, and I sought 
To go my way. But like a bow unstrung 



36 BETHESDA. 



Were all my limbs: and sudden, wond'ring fear 

Made my heart faint. Nor did I move nor rise 

Or more than cry along the vacant path 

Till travelers, for plenteous gift of gold, 

On stout arms bore me as I bid them haste 

Far to the pool whose blessed waters heal 

Who first shall touch them as they troubled flow. 

There, by the porches five, a little while 

They laid me down. The crippled youth forebore 

To pass beyond. The widow, old and wan. 

Spread her scant raiment on my naked feet. 

And he who, blinded, held his trembling palms 

To feel the waters quiver, stepped aside, 

With patient air as more than sight had laid 

On him a charge of pity. Yet, I laughed 

As strong arms bore me o'er their heads and laid 

Me down amid the waters as they surged 

And o'er me swelled with healing in their touch. 



BE THE SB A. 37 



So. Whole I rose, and whole I went away. 
I careless trod the path that led afar 
To famed Engedi's vineyards. Yet the air 
Seemed sultrier than before; the way more steep; 
The wild birds' song more distant; and the leaf 
That from, the olive drooped had duller grown. 
Upon my tongue the wine found meaner zest, 
And the pomegranites juice was cool no more. 
The resonant timbrel that a wayward girl 
Struck with free fingers as she glanced aside 
Had undertone of sadness; and the laugh 
That kindled her dark eyes was vain to me. 
I lay a while beneath a zaccum branch, 
And saw the hot noon waver 'gainst the sky 
Till sleep came o'er me; and the lambent stars 
Looked down ere I from restless dreams awoke 
To dreamy wakefulness and discontent. 

I thought. In Hebron have my years been passed. 
And there their days monotonous and slow 



38 BE THE SD A. 



Pass on from eve to eve. I would the change 

Of unknown faces and new pleasures came 

To rouse my listless senses. I have heard 

That far Engedi hath a fount more broad, 

With cooler waters,, and upon the wall 

The hyssop greener clings. That her ripe grapes 

Grow larger clusters, and her wine more bright 

Flows than from Hebron's presses. That her maids 

Their rounded arms fling wide with grace more free, 

And softer sing the canticles of love. 

In fair Engedi found I welcome warm, 

For they had heard of Shobab bold and blythe. 

And glad were they that I had come to them. 

There day by day the vintage passed away, 

And day by day the seed time slow returned, 

When flowers new budded bloomed. And day by 

day 
The green grapes turned to purple. Day by day 
Soft lute and viol lured me to the fount 



BE THE SD A. 39 



When fell the dusk, and pleasant voices spoke 
Sweet words of welcome — and the wine was old 
And sparkled from the goat skin as it poured. 
I craved a draught more potent than the press 
Yields from its pomace to the vintner's tread. 
Aye. It was long ago. 

There came an eve: — 
The upper vat was heaped high with grapes, 
While that below with wine o'er ran its rim. 
They said: Let us rejoice and drink the must, 
And drink the old wine, too, for life is sweet. 
Then let the tabor and the timbrel sound; 
For joyousness is life. And let us dance. 
Aye. Man and maiden dance. Soft night is here 
And who hath seen to-morrow. And the morn 
Our wassail saw ere yet it touched the east. 
But when the last star withered from the sky. 
Each gaily homeward turned. One down the vale. 
Another o'er the hill crest, and beyond 



40 BETHESDA. 



The winding stream another. Here and yon 
Each one departed gaily while the song, 
And tinkle of the timbrel, answered back 
One to another till a silence came; 
And I alone remained beside the well 
Where crept the hyssop on the curb and where 
The gourd half filled beside the wine skin lay. 
Alone I stood, and all the air was pale 
And dulled the glamour of the rosy dawn. 
I stooped and from the gourd I drank again 
And sang a husky song. Aye, life is sweet 
With love and wine and joyaunce of the lute, 
I sang, and sang again, till on my brain 
There fell a cloud, and all my limbs were like 
Tlie aspen's leaves that shiver in the noon 
When no breeze stirs the bough. 

The morning air 
Was full of golden motes that sank and swam 
Before my dizzy sight. A veil of mist 



BETHESDA. 41 



Fell gray upon mine eyes, then sudden dark. 
Unto mine ear, like murmuring of bees, 
Slow droning sounds from out the silence came. 
Prone to the earth I fell, nor anymore 
Did sound or sight come to me 'till I woke 
From out a dreamless torpor when the dew 
Lay sweet and heavy on the mountain grass. 
And the white moonlight shone upon a palm 
That feathery shadows threw along the way. 
I was athirst, and from the herbage lapt 
The dripping dew. Ahungered, I beheld 
Ripe dates drop, one by one, from out the palm 
A dozen: and from one to one I crept 
And gathered greedily. 

Then, with bowed head, 
With drooping shoulders, and with limbs that shook 
As shake the aspen leaves when storms are nigh, 
I travailled t'ward the city. Aye. The pool. 
The pool, I cried, whose turbid waters quake 



42 BETHESDA. 



In healing turbulence. The trailing moon 
Sank in its radiance from the azure deep. 
The cold night wind grew colder and the light 
Of the clear stars changed slowly into dawn 
Ere I beheld the city, yet afar 
Ten thousand cubits. All the eastern sky 
Grew crimson and then faded into blue — 
The while the sunshine deepened. Piteously 
I kept upon my way. The noon was past 
And sultriness was slumbering in the vales 
Ere low by Kedron's bank I lay my head. 
Nor farther wrought for wretchedness and woe, 
Or uttered any cry for very pain 
And weary hopelessness. 

Here while I lay 
I heard the voice of wailing drawing near 
And saw along the valley slowly wend, 
To where the children of the people lie, 
With dubious step a tattered cavalcade. 



BE THE SD A. 43 



And as they neared I saw Ben Aiden's son 

With wine-flushed face reel where the mourners led, 

I heard their voices speak Ben Aiden's name; 

And there Ben Aiden's daughter raised her eyes 

With sensual glance nor even grief could slake 

Of all its coarse alluring. Deeper fell 

My heart in loneliness and misery, 

For I had known him in the lusty days 

Of all my earliest youth, and I had thought 

He would befriend me in Jerusalem. 

Then merciful a deep forgetful sleep 
Weighed softly on mine eyes. The ardent sun 
Crept through my limbs, a little comforting; 
And blown from Olivet came scent of flowers, 
The rustle of high branches and the song 
Of birds rejoicing in the peaceful day. 
A pleasant dream came to me: rhythmic words 
By maidens sung beneath the summer sky: 
And jangle of clear cymbals. And I woke 



44 BETHESDA. 



To the sweet voice of women, on the air 
Breathed gay and dulcet; and the clang of arms 
Like cymbals jangling or like castanets 
By wild free fingers struck. 

Behold! The King, 
The mighty Herod with a train of spears 
And shields and glitt'ring corselets. Mid the throng 
Of clanging horsemen came the silken dames 
In carven chariots riding. On it swept, 
Nor would have noted,- had a restless steed 
Not broken suddenly and sprang aside 
And reared and sprang again. A lazar here! 
A captain cried, and vengeful swung aloft 
His blade as if to smite me; but the king 
Saw mark for bitter jest. He bade them bear 
Me o'er the brook and to the porches five. 
Perchance, he said, the wave may make him clean; 
Then at the miracle shall wonder rise; 
Aye, we shall marvel much. 



BETHESDA. 45 



His myrmidons 
The while the throng passed onward bore me up 
And carried me within the city gates, and then, 
Their master out of sight, beside a wall 
Flung me down rudely and with scoff and jibe, 
Left me alone. Then drowsily anew 
I felt the creeping heat. I dreamed of feasts 
And of cool draughts of water and of wine 
Crushed from new ripened clusters, and anon 
I restless woke. Ahungered and athirst 
My moan I made and no man hearkened me. 
Slow, cubit after cubit, through the night 
I crept the city streets. 

Before the dawn, 
Among the earliest who trod the way, 
I reached the pool, and with my hollowed hand 
Lifted its turbid waters to my lips, 
And as one famished, drank; the while a wound 
That in my arm a jagged stone had made 



46 BETHESDA. 



Upon its edge dropped blood. Then from her 

robe — 
Yea, scant and thin it was — the widow tore 
A bandage narrow, and the hurt she bound 
With tremulous fingers and with pitying words 
In aged quaver spoken. He whose limbs 
Were scored and seamed by fire gazed curiously, 
Deep in my hungry eyes, and from his breast — 
His only bread for all the livelong day — 
Drew forth of carob pods and gave to me. 

The slanting sun shone on the pavement stones, 
A green branch waved across the arch where clear 
The blue sky met the eye. A spider's thread 
Its venomed burden swayed beside the wall; 
And clear a linnet's song swam high above 
The clamor of the street. For now the tread 
Of hurrying crowds grew loud. The bubbles rose 
And broke upon the pool. A sullen wave 
Rolled from its centre to its verge, and then 



BETHESDA. 47 



Above us, sandaled or unshod, the feet 
Of all the rabble passed. Flung far aside, 
And trampled on, we lay — the weak — while all 
Those lesser maimed and ill sprang rudely on. 
One, with some little ailment, touched the wave 
And buoyant and rejoicing went his way. 
Then each departed, some with murm'ring words, 
Some hopeful of the morrow. All save we 
To whom a home and archway were the same; 
For us the sun was something in the morn. 
The shade a guerdon in the noon, and eve 
When all the stones grew cold, alone of all 
The hours would drive us forth with willingness. 

So day by day nor any change was wrought, 

Or any kind vicissitude of woe. 

Each morn the waters stirred, each morn the strong 

E^eceived its blessedness, each morn the weak 

Fell helpless 'neath their strength; and so, at last 

We sought, devoid of hope, though seeking still. 



48 BE THE SD A. 



'Twas long ago — yea, very many years 
Since first I brake the carob by the pool, 
And one year like another, save a change, 
Impalpable and slow, of which we recked 
Or cared nor jot or tittle. We who found 
Companionship that morn, a common bond 
Of suffering made and waiting, each for each, 
Gave greeting when we met. For yet alone 
Hath no man stood, nor any burden borne 
Unaided by his fellows. In the dawn 
Ere yet the sun arose the blind man reached 
His hand to feel the waters. In the dawn 
The widow's eye grew keen to watch the pool; 
And in the dawn the crippled youth crept near 
Its edge to be the first, and I, again 
Expectant, but unhoping, watched the drift 
Of stray leaves on its surface. Then the crush 
And struggle of a moment and the sound 
Of fast receding feet; while slow and calm 
The waters sank anew to placidness, 



BETHESDA. 49 



And drowsy from the tumult silence came. 
Then we, upon the scanty alms that fell 
To us from careless givers, broke our fast; 

We watched on all the things that came and went 

Within our little sphere. The swallow's flight 

Or high or low, foretold the sun or storm. 

The beetle creeping from the creviced stones 

Was herald of the dilatory Spring 

And scant or heavy harvest, while the fly. 

As late or early, forecast for the hills 

The yield of spotted melons. And the mouse 

As he was sleek or gaunt, the promise gave 

Of olive laden boughs or barren branch. 

Yea, when the wind veered from the chilly east 

We counted that men's hearts would kindlier be 

Upon the morrow. When from out the west 

The wind blew fair and steadfast, well we knew 

That from the seacoast marts the millet cakes 



50 BE THE SD A. 



Would cheapened come. And when from the far 

south 
It slowly blew and steady, sure, we said 
The dancing girls will seek the porches five 
And we shall hear the cymbals and the song. 
Whene'er the vapor on the gray cold walls 
Gathered in drops and slowly trickled down, 
The plague, we said, will devastate the land. 
And prayed for each who in the morning gave 
To us our daily pittance. When afar 
The thin clouds sailed across the azure skies, 
And leaves turned sidelong as the wind went by. 
Behold, we said, the thunder and the rain 
Shall stay the pestilence, and we shall hear 
The chanting of the priests in thanks to God. 

Aye, more than this, we watched the black ants 

climb 
By devious pathways to the coping stone 
That crowned the arch, and heavy laden bring 



BETHESDA. 51 



The gummy residue from leaves that swept 
Against the outer pillars, lo, we said, 
How gain doth come from patience. Oft we saw 
The driving swallows in their reckless flight 
Dash headlong 'gainst the wall and, fallen low, 
Lie motionless as dead, 'til breath of breeze 
And blessedness of sun slow brought them back 
To joyous flight again. Then comforting 
Ourselves with gentle thoughts, 'tis thus, we 

cried, 
The Father's hand shall lift us into peace 
And healthfulness of days. When, oftentimes. 
The outland camels choked the narrow streets 
Until the rich man's litter could not pass. 
Nor Levite keep the path; and when the steed, 
Caparisoned for war, raised hoof in vain: 
The Gibeonite with water jar on head 
Thridded between, and singing went his way. 
So shall we pass, we whispered, when the great 
Are stayed and humbled. 



52 BETHESDA. 



Yea, more than this. 
From out the legends of a billowy past, 
Where truth shone for a moment and was gone, 
We gained quaint stories that would comfort us. 
As of one, leprous stained, who painful drew 
From plains beyond the Jordan, and while night 
Still mantled all the earth, lay down and slept • 
A weary sleep beside the blessed pool: 
Yet dreaming, when the sunlight smote his face 
With its first beam; gave vigorous stroke and fell, 
Ere yet the strongest sprang, and in the wave 
Left all his leper's whiteness and w^as clean. 
And of one, cunning, who in distant woods 
A curious fabric made of springing branch 
And intertwining leaf, and hid therein. 
Close by the marge, so that the pilgrims thought 
A bunch of wild acacias lay anear 
The edges of the water, 'til he flung 
Himself abroad when first the ripples stirred, 
And reached them earliest and himself was healed. 



BETHESDA. 53 



Nor lacked we laughter, sad and slender mirth 
Was ours in many a languid afternoon 
When olden jests retold gave hollow cheer: 
Or for an hour a new freak pleasaunce gave, 
Thus, where pomegranate skins were flung beside 
The portals of the arches, came the flies 
In darkening clusters, and the crippled youth 
Would deftly catch them and with pride would show 
The buzzing captives; and sometimes a bee, 
White faced and droning in its drowsy flight, 
Would fearless clasp. And so it happed, one day, 
An alien wasp by favoring winds far blown, 
Drifted within the gates; with agile hand 
He grasped it as it sped and quick was stung, 
Whereat we laughed, full long; and many a day 
The jest made light the languor of the hours. 

There came ofttimes, a fair and pleasant youth 
Who studied with the priests, that he might speak 
Some day in the Sanhedrim. He was kind 



54 BETHESDA. 



And told us stories of the ages gone 
Unwritten in the scrolls. And so one day 
With mimic manner, as himself were king 
Or seer, or beggar, he the story told 
How evil Ashmedai, the Amulet 
Stole from King Solomon, so he was cast 
Into deep sorrow and to Kedesh came 
Low w^ailing in his woe. 

'Twas thus the lad 
With varying accent told the legend old: 

I, Solomon, the wand'rer, I was King 
Over all Israel, in Jerusalem. 
Yet now I crave your alms, a beggar's dole 
Will blunt my hunger and my need assuage. 

Yea, I was Solomon, of Israel King, 
And through these streets with horses silver-shod 
Rode on in triumph while my chariot wheels 
In golden splendor the high sun outshone. 



BETHESDA. 55 



Now I am girt with straw, and on my breast 

A tent cloth's fragment shields me from the blast. 

So give me alms. 

Yea, Solomon the Great, 
Men called me in those days. My sceptre swayed 
From Euphrates to Tyre. My stately ships 
Were favored of the skies; and Ophir knew 
Their white sails swimming on the distant seas. 
My bowmen and my spearmen in array 
Were mightier than Egypt's mighty hosts 
And owned me lord and ruler. Now, the husks 
From desert branches are sweet food to me, 
Gathered with trembling hands by barren ways. 
So give me alms. For it was writ of old 
The poor and yet the stranger shalt thou aid 
As this our Israel was from bondage brought. 

I had the love of women. From afar 

Sheba's fond Queen came to my strong embrace. 



56 BETHESDA. 



And who were fairest of the varied lands 

Were willing conquest of my ardent heart. 

Love songs I sung, and softly kindled eyes 

Replied in silence. Now, great Solomon 

Wanders unknown. Beyond the eastern gate 

One with bronz'd forehead mocked me. Give me alms 

For I am faint with travail and with pain: 

My eyes are dim and the rough way is dark. 

And Solomon would rest a little while 

Ere the new day new trouble brings to him. 

I owned the charm that demons feared, and knew 
The secrets of the genii in their guile. 
And innocent craft of fairies and of elves 
That haunt the forest dells. Now, demons scoff 
At my lost amulet. The genii mock. 
And elf and fairy when my feet draw near 
Hide in the woodland hollows. I am changed. 
Yea, Solomon is changed and all is gone 
Save want and woe and bitter barren years 



BETHESDA. 57 



That crave thy pity and thy scanty alms, 
For Solomon is weary. He is weak; 
And patient in his asking, for he knows 
The poor speak often ere they find reply. 

Of God's own Temple the high walls I built. 

Nor sound of hammer fell upon the air. 

While stone on stone uprose. The Lord our God 

Gave me of wisdom for all holy things, 

And knowledge of his work in earth and air 

From Lebanon's high cedar to the herb 

That sways neglected on the toppling wall: 

And vision clear for judgment. Now, my thought 

Heeds but the present hour, and dole that comes 

From hearts grown pitiful to see my woe: 

For Solomon is broken and his state 

Is vanished into rags. Yea, give me alms. 

Me, who was Ruler in Jerusalem, 

And Seer. And priest before the holy Lord. 

I, Solomon, the Preacher. I was King 



58 BE THE SB A. 



Over all Israel. Yet my hunger sore 
Craves pittance from thee, and I fain would find 
Some little shelter from the winds that blow 
Through the chill shadows of the creeping night. 

I through the cities of this realm have passed, 

A stranger 'mid my people, and no door 

Swung on its hinges for the king unthroned. 

And in the narrow lanes where beggars hide 

I found each had his place but none for me. 

Amid the graves beyond the outer walls 

I sought where I might shelter. But the dogs, 

According to their strength, each knew the bound 

And limit where he slept, where none might come. 

In autumn fields the little fieldmouse sought 

His home beneath the stones. The swallow's wing 

Swept confident to where below the eaves 

His clay-built dwelling hung. The eagle's flight 

Grew smooth and sloping when from upper sky 

He saw his wild nest resting on the crags. 



BE THE SD A. 59 



And I their comfort envied as I walked 
Crying with tears: Oh, Israel, I was King 
When from Araunah's floor the temple rose, 
And David's son ruled in Jerusalem, 
Until at last, with sorrow overborne 
I ask thine alms. 

Then quoth a fisherman: 
Lo! I am poor. No spreading net is mine 
As wealthy fishers use. On sturdy feet 
I tread the long leagues to far Galilee 
Whose waters, like the bounty of the Lord, 
Are free to all who come. A slender line 
Braided from nettles in waste places grown 
Suffices for my need. Within the deep 
The fishes come and go; nor do I ken 
Or whence or whither. Scant unto my hand 
Each day these many years enough has come 
To find me food and raiment. Share with me 
The solitary bream mine hook hath caught: 



6o BE THE SB A. 



And share my fire the while the outer dark 
Shall grow forgotten though the chill winds blow: 
And with me share my shelter 'til the morn 
Shall warmth of sunshine bring to us again. 

They sat, the twain, and watched the embers glow 

Within a narrow brazier, and the cloud 

Of vapor rise the while the food prepared. 

And the King's eye grew brighter as he gazed. 

His nostrils dilate as the odor rose 

From the quick seething flesh. Anon, they ate; 

As brothers friendly, though their converse brief. 

And when 'twas finished; we are satisfied, 

Spake they together, though it all be gone 

Save yonder entrails thrown beside the knife 

That scored them from their place. But while they 

spake 
From out the heap revolting shone a light 
Misty and dim and wavering and strange, 



BE THE SB A. 6i 



As if a gleam of gold and gems were mixt 
And overlaid with sulphur's sapphire flame. 

Then with a cry, as one o'erwrought with joy, 

Sprang Solomon and grasped with trembUng hand 

The amulet and on his finger placed 

Its graven coil. Then through his raiment rude 

Shone all of Kingly manner and of grace: 

And power was on his forehead. In his limbs 

The strength of youth was sudden manifest, 

But in his eyes was tearful tenderness, 

And his red Hps were tremulous as are 

A mother's words when murm'ring of the dead. 

And when the fisherman would kneel to him, 
He said, not so, my brother. Go with me 
When comes the morning. Let us seek the hill 
Whence we may Hermon see, and Libanus, 
Carmel and Tabor and Esdraelon, 
And Galilee's fair valley and her sea 



62 BETHESDA. 



Wherein thy line was dropt. And tread its shore 
Where Sons of God shall travail when my name 
Is but a legend in the hearts of men. 

They slept. And when the morning came, he spake: 

I, Solomon, The Wand'rer, I am King, 

Over all Israel, and Jerusalem 

Is mine own city. Yet mine heart is sad. 

For wiser now than when my wisdom waked 

The wonder of the nations, I am fain 

That all were finished. 

Mine own heart hath known 
The weariness and burden of the poor. 
And earthliness of sin that bows the weak 
Ere they can rise to cry upon the Lord. 
The sore temptation; and the bitter fruit 
Which follows evil sowing. Yea. The thought 
That God is far away and will not hear. 
And the deep brooding, that the Lord is just, 



BE THE SD A. 63 



That we, are evil, and his wrath will come 

Until his broken law be all avenged. 

Not mine the strength or mine the light to know 

Wherefore shall mercy come. My spirit faints, 

For all is vanity that I have done. 

Yet seer am I. 

And now the curtain lifts. 
Before the front of Ages vast and dim. 
And One shall come, more wise than Solomon, 
Purer than Moses, stronger than the sire 
Of our proud race. And Him the Lord shall own, 
And in Him kindreds of the earth be blest. 
Wherein I, Solomon, the weak, am bent. 
He shall arise in triumph. Then the poor 
By Him shall pass to joy and blessedness. 

Then forth they went, the twain, the level sun 
Threw thin, long shadows slanting on the path, 
Upon the hill where now is Nazareth. 



64 BETHESDA. 



They sought the strand and idle at their feet 

The waters lapped with murmurs soft and low^, 

And the King's face was peace. A placid light 

Lay in his eyes ; a look as one who turns 

From arid pathways into meadows cool ; 

Or who from battle coming, sees the roof 

Of his own dwelling in the restful vale. 

His beard the sweet wind wafted, and his hair 

From silver threads threw back the mellow sun. 

And on his white hand shone the amulet 

A wavering drop of gentle sapphire flame. 

He said: My brother. Thou wast kind to me 
When I was hungered. When I sought for rest 
Thy couch gave me the blessedness of sleep. 
And I am King and Seer ; and spirits own 
My power on earth and sea. So, nevermore 
In Galilee thy line be vainly cast. 
And never shall thy brazier fail of fire. 
Nor ever storm assail thee, till ye die 



BETHESDA. 65 



Of many gathered years and kindly age. 

The fisher heard and cast his Hne abroad, 

But scarce the sinker fell beneath the wave 

Ere the cord tightened. Thrice he drew to land 

The finny spoil until it seemed too great 

For his strong arms to bear. Then reverently 

Obedient to a sign, departed thence. 

But in a little while he turned and saw 
The Kingly form, the sunlight on its head. 
Silent and calm. Then slow the fingers drew 
Forth from its place the lambent amulet, 
And flung it forth, a gleaming arc in air 
That fell and vanished in the midmost sea. 
And calm and silent with slow waving beard. 
With sunlight on his forehead and his hair, 
The King stood on the shore. The fisher saw 
And awe was in his heart : and wondering 
He turned and went his way. And not again 
In this our land was seen great Solomon. 



66 BE THE SD A. 



He ceased the tale, half bashful and half pleased 
To hear our praises of his mien and speech. 
But with his kind good eve the story failed 
And faded from our thought. Nor did I dream 
I should remember in the after time. 

Sometimes a stranger gave us passing cheer. 
Once, wandering from the coast a sailor came. 
Reckless in word but with a kindly heart, 
And gladdened us with alms and willing speech, 
For well he liked a list'ner, and we loved 
To hear his tales of wondrous lands remote 
From all our warriors knew or sages told. 

Once, so he said, beyond where Roman spears 
Outshone the glimmer of the Northern seas, 
He climbed a mountain on whose naked crest 
The sunlight lay when deep the midnight brought 
Its darkness to the silent lands below. 
Yea, there, he said, he saw the sun descend 



BE THE SD A. 67 



Aslant and crimson and then rise again, 
Yet never sink beneath the distant edge . 
Of the far driven sea ; and so its course 
Kept onward with no twilight and no night, 
But ever living radiance on the sky, 
And light unbroken on the mountain top. 
Then, ever eager to explain her thought, 
The aged woman spake. Above the vales 
Wherein we dwell the peace of God doth lie 
As on the northern summit dwells the sun. 
There fear is gone, as on the distant height 
The darkness hath no place. Yea, we may climb 
From out these lowly shadows into light. 

The sailor, hearing, wondered, and gave voice 
To long, low, doubting whistle and away 
Went with a mocking laugh, forsaking us 
As all too simple for his courtesy. 



68 BETHESDA. 



We heard the daily gossip, that which ran 

From Hp to lip among the folk, and we 

Were glad to join therein, because it gave 

Us lot and share with human kind around 

And made us one with them: we heard and told, 

Of who was wed and who was borne beyond 

The city gates for burial ; and who 

Had come into the world ; and who was old 

And wise, or foolish, and whose wealth was gone. 

Or poverty was done ; who from afar 

Had home returned, or who departed thence. 

Sometimes its sluggish current faster moved 

At some strange thing new told. 

One early morn, 
Yea, it was long ago, but not more clear 
Is yesterday within my vision drawn, 
Where comes the road from Bethlehem we saw 
A wayworn woman hasten to the mart 
Where sheep are sold, beyond the healing pool, 



BETHESDA. 69 



And in her arms an infant. Quick she drew, 
With trembling fingers and averted gaze, 
The coarse, dry herbage from the mangers full 
Wherein she wrapped the child, and hiding it. 
Sped t'ward the ford of Kedron. Soon we heard 
A murmur of shrill voices in the air. 
And sobbing near at hand. The Edomite, 
They cried, hath slain the innocents and now 
Is Rama mourning for her little ones, 
Aye, thrice accursed shall cruel Herod be. 

And once we heard how from the Eastern lands 
A lambent star, new risen, passed athwart 
The calm, blue sky, and wise men followed it. 
Yea, Kings were they and bore of precious gifts, 
Until it paused above a humble roof 
Beneath whose shelter oxen chewed the cud 
And sheep contented lay. And m^ore they told, 
Some doubting much and some of fervent faith. 
How in the manger was a new-born child. 



70 BETHESDA. 



Foretold of old a conqueror, and whom 
A virgin nursed in purity undimmed 
By any guile or stain, and at whose feet 
With low obeisance the gifts were laid. 

And later still they said this self-same babe 
Borne into far-off Egypt safely dwelt, 
Awaiting that His time of power should come 
When he should rule — a King. The story told, 
We pondered for an hour and then forgot, 
Seeking new wonder in some newer tale. 

But chiefest of the pleasaunce that we knew 
That dotted here and there the dismal days 
With scattered shards of light — the tales oft told 
Of how our people in the olden years 
Were God's best chosen. How from Egypt's dark 
And crushing bondage all the tribes rose up 
With steadfast tread, and sought the purple sea 
Whose waters rose beside them, like a wall, 



BETHESDA. 71 



That they might walk dry shod. How smoke and 

flame 
Did guide them through the wilderness, and how 
The manna fell in darkness of the night 
When they were hungered. How beyond the hills 
This land allured them, promised of old time, 
Where rain from Heaven on the thirsty earth 
Should bring forth bread without the touch of foot 
To trickling rivulet. How Solomon 
These naked streets had clothed with shining gold. 
How he had talked with demons and had known 
The inmost secrets of the rocks and woods: 
And over mighty kings held heavy sway. 
How he from Joktan's deserts charmed the queen 
That ruled in Sheba. How his daring ships 
Of carven shittim wood from seas remote 
Brought back of gems, and birds of colors rare. 
How, earlier, a shepherd lad had gone 
To seek his sheep and found a crown instead. 
How, earlier still, when Israel owned the yoke. 



72 BETHESDA. 



A woman drove a tent-pin through the brain 

Of the accursed invader. How our sires 

Mourned 'neath the willows by the still lagoons 

That notched Euphrates' banks. How Esther came 

Mantled in beauty to the conqueror, 

That by the sword her people yet might live, 

Though sorely smitten. How Holofernes 

By Judith pure as snow was smote and slain. 

And all the people said Amen, and she 

Was honored of our God. 

And while we talked 
Of these the women of old days, the crone 
Her shaking hands held steadier and a light, 
Like glint of burnished steel, was in her eyes 
The while she crooned. It was a woman's arm 
That saved our people in the evil days. 
Aye, Israel's maidens are not they who know 
Alone fair smiles, and softly woven words 
Sweet spoken in the dusk. And more we told 



BETHESDA. 73 



Of many marvels in the ancient days 
And told them yet again. 

But most of all 
We conned the mystery that Jacob spake 
Concerning Judah, that around his hearth 
Our race should gather until Shiloh come. 
And who, we questioned, shall this Shiloh be, 
So long foretold and weary w^aited for? 
The Roman spears are bright along our streets, 
And Roman eagles from the standards look 
Upon us from our hills. When Shiloh comes, 
Shall Judah rise once more ; shall Zion share 
Her splendor once again? So queried oft 
Our desultory talk when fervently 
Each gave interpretation to the tale. 
Aye, quoth the greybeard: — 

Judah yet shall know 
Her garners filled with harvests and her vales 



74 



BETHESDA. 



Ablown with flowers new born. Her ships shall sail 

To seas untraversed, as in ancient days, 

And all her marts be filled, nor any tread 

Of alien warrior in her land be heard. 

Not Lebanon with his cedars shall be strong, 

Or Sharon with her roses be more fair 

Than this our land ; for Shiloh sure shall be 

Like unto David, and like Solomon 

In all save guile. 

Then answered quick the youth. 
Behold, when Shiloh comes, the cymbals' clang 
Shall clamor loud from Jordan to the sea. 
And all the pastures shall be swept for steeds. 
The smiths shall swing the hammers at the forge. 
From dawn to dark, that spearheads may be made 
To arm the serried hosts. The chariot wheels 
Shall grind the pavements of Jerusalem 
Rolled outward to the gates. The bronzed birds 
That crown the Roman standards, flown afar 



BETHESDA. 75 



Shall dread our trumpet's blast. Like Joshua, 
But sevenfold more than he, shall Shiloh come. 

Then softly said the widow, when He comes — 

Foretold by prophets, shall a gentle calm 

As of a Sabbath morning fall on all. 

And wrath shall die and peace be everywhere. 

The smiths shall labor, but their cheerful toil 

Shall make of ploughshares and of sickles keen 

And hooks to till the vines. The trumpet's blast 

Shall echo o'er the vales but it shall call 

The people to the feasts. The cymbal's sound 

Shall have but gladness and the voice of joy. 

Yea, in that day the lions from the hills, 

The wild men dwelling in the caves, shall come 

And seeking peaceful shelter shall lie down 

Unharming and unharmed within our walls. 

And none shall be ahungered, for the just 

Shall say that all God's creatures shall be fed. 

And none shall be afraid, for merciful 

Shall all men's hearts be found when Shiloh comes. 



76 BE THE SD A. 



And I, in reverie, upon the pool 
Saw dead leaves dance and shadows come and go. 
Once with a step sedate, through summer days 
There came a man robust, in gentle guise, 
Who spake in voice subdued and gave us alms, 
With sympathetic words. Ofttimes he stood 
And gazed upon the pool; not when it stirred 
In first ebuUiance in the rosy light, 
But when the shade grew cool at evenfall, 
When water spiders darted here and there 
Like dots of darker shadow on its face: 
When all its deeps grew black and clearer gave 
Its dusk reflection to the downward gaze. 
There would he ponder long, then w4th a sigh 
Would turn away and bid us soft good-night 
As if we were of brotherhood with him. 
Whereat we marvelled, for his raiment shone 
With linen woven in Cyrenian looms. 
And purple gathered from the murex shell. 
Upon his hand the cloven diamond shone 



BE THE SD A. 77 



Mingled with sapphire and with chrysophrase. 

His words were chosen as a Rabbi's are, 

Full delicate and dainty in their strength. 

And yet he seemed like one of us who knew 

The burden of a sorrow held so long 

That it was daily use and habitude. 

So seeing him we held our woes more light 

As of the common burden of the world. 

But we knew not his name or whence he came 

Till from the fervent heat, one afternoon 

A woman sought the arch. 

Beneath the sky 
Was never mortal seen more beautiful 
In face or form or movement of the limbs, 
Or sensuous grace of speech, or tender ways. 
Save this, that oft her eyes were sinister, 
Nor steadily would gaze into our own: 
And that sometimes around her mouth there came 
Lines like the leopard's when he nears his prey. 



78 BE THE SB A. 



Though seemed she as but yesterday a child. 
And her we knew. For we had seen her pass 
With flaunting garments, when the twilight came, 
And hollow laugh that echoed far and drear. 
She, resting, stood within the shade and gazed 
Half curiously on us. Her loosened hair. 
Like silk from far Sinensis, fleecy fell 
A sable cloud unto her languid knee. 
And clustered on her forehead low and broad. 
She stood, and spake .not, till the angered crone 
Said, wherefore, woman, comest thou anear: 
Thy place is out beyond the utmost gates, 
So trouble us no more. 

She answered not; 
But with a sudden movement of her arm 
Disclosed the rounded bosom and the charm 
Of all the ivory shoulder tinged with gold. 
And leaned against the wall as leans the vine 
Upon the trellis in the noontide heat. 



BETHESDA. 79 



Then with a careless smile said — sweet and soft, 
Ah, matron, thou art old: and like the seed 
From the ripe thistle blown, art harsh and dry, 
And know no juiciness of life, or touch 
Of any fervidness of summer noons 
On thy cold heart or in thy shrinking veins. 
Yea, matron, thou art old and therefore scorn. 
I take no coolness from thee in the shade. 
Nor crowd thee in the narrow resting place 
Beneath this spreading arch. A little while 
And I go forth, and leave no word behind 
Of bitterness or railing. Let the rose 
Bloom forth its little hour. It hinders not 
The thistle's seed on chilly winds upborne. 

Then spake the blind man. Woman, hearken me, 

I listen to thy step and hence I know 

That thou art hale and strong. I hear thy voice 

And learn thy heart is fond and passionate. 

Its buoyant accents tell me thou art fair. 



8o BETHESDA. 



The rustle of thy garments, dehcate 

Doth hint of sensuous grace and courtesy. 

Thy babble is of roses. Thou can'st see 

The splendor of fair fields with blossoms strown. 

In all these gifts find ye no treasure lent 

Tor which to make accounting? Wherefore now 

In idle dalliance with the drifting days 

Dost loiter far from shelter of the hearth, 

And all the peace of home and loving hearts? 

Quoth she, and hast thou heard the hammers clang 

On anvils of Damascus? By the doors 

Where armorers labored I have marked the scene, 

The glitter of the fire and all the roar 

And splendor of the forges. And the steel 

Lay ready to the master workman's hand. 

And whether from the twisted bar should come 

A blade to shimmer on victorious fields 

Or one to offer up the sacrifice 

Was in his heart alone. Lo. He who made 



BETHESDA. 



The glory of the sun and earth and skies 
Has wrought us to the fashion of his will, 
And who shall hinder him. 

Once knew I truth. 
And all the trustfulness of innocence, 
Dreaming that love was like the asphodel 
That golden grows where gentle spirits are. 
When him I met whom ye will see to-day 
Beside this pool when evening shadows fall. 
For so we twain beside still waters stood, 
Beheld our faces in them and the stars 
Twinkle below ere yet our tryst was done. 
The year hath gone, and sullenly and dark 
He sees his own reflected all alone. 
And naught save memory of evil done 
Hath he and I together. He, who lured 
And I, who fell unheeding in the snare. 
Yea, I have faltered by the synagogue 
To see him, with fond wife, exultantly 



82 BE THE SD A. 



Give thanks before the altar of the Lord: 

Wearing phylacteries a handbreadth broad, 

And mark the smiles that all the people gave, 

As in obeisance, did he but deign 

To look upon them there. Then have I gone: 

And shame has followed me along the streets, 

The mocking of the beggar and the jest 

Of Levite passing on the other side. 

Yea, shame and hunger, and the bitter woe 

That comes from dearth of converse with our kind. 

And memory of sweet hours forever dead. 

Aye, blind man, thou art darker in thine heart 

Than in those clouded eyes, to speak of home. 

Or hearthstone shelter, or sweet peace to me. 

Then, turning, with slow steps she went away. 
But in a little while we heard her sing 
As if her sorrow a slow comfort found 
In self-communing words. 



BETHESDA. 83 



Aye, love is sweet. 
When love is guiltless, as the rose is fair 
Untouched by ardor of the fervid noon. 
Ah, Love is life and love is dead to me. 
And life were better ended as the rose 
Dies in the blaze of suns that gave it birth. 
Among the branches darker grew the shade 
And deeper all the shadows 'neath the arch, 
When at the accustomed hour we heard the step 
Of him of whom she spoke; but all our hearts 
Had grown a-cold to him. Yet seeing this 
He smiled, surprised, and threw a double dole. 
Two coins, to each and passed toward the pool, 
And spake no more to us. Anon, we heard 
Him murmur softly, to himself alone: 

Vain are my gifts upon the altar laid 
And vain the travail of the stormy years. 
The gathering of gold, and praise of men. 
Yea, and the love of woman, cast away 



84 BE THE SD A. 



Like blossoms brought with toil from rocky cliffs 

Then flung upon the wa3^side when the joy 

Hath passed a little space. Aye, vain the faith 

Our fathers brought from sore captivity, 

That we shall rise from out the sepulchre 

To a new Eden. Yet, mayhap, as vain 

The Sadduseean's sullen dream of death, 

A sleep wherein no visions come to us. 

Aye. All is vain. Yet Death the riddle solves. 

This calm, still water could the marvel tell 

To who would trust it. When the gentle breath 

Had bubbled to its surface he would know 

The mystery of all the dark beyond. 

Drowsy we listened to his monotone 

That fell on our dulled senses till it seemed 

Receding and confused. Then slumber came 

With dreams that flitted in awakening 

Ere we could hold them as a pleasure known 

Or anguish undergone. For we awoke 



BETHESDA. 85 



To hear shrill cries of wonder and of woe. 

For they who sought for him who watched the pool 

Need seek no more, and lamentation made. 

He lay beneath the water, save that fair 

Above its surface shone his forehead high, 

And hand bedight with jewels. From the space 

Of all the arches swarmed the flies and sank 

In clusters on his brow. And still he lay, 

For on that morn no angel touched the pool: 

And none were healed in presence of the dead. 

Then we were filled with sorrow at the thought 

Of all our coldness to him. And we told. 

In low, remorseful converse, of his gifts 

And many kindly words. I safely laid 

The two denarii in my girdle's fold. 

That I might keep them for his memory's sake 

Till need should wrench them from me. Many days 

Were flown ere we forgot to think of him 

When sunshine faded and the night drew near. 



86 BETHESDA. 



Once, tempted by the coolness of the air 

When after rain the sunlight fell subdued, 

An hour before the dark, we sought the street; 

The blind man guided by our willing hands; 

Our weakness holpen by his greater strength, 

Till, eastward thrown, the shade of David's tower 

Made welcome resting place. And there were come 

A-many curious list'ners to the voice 

Of one who cried: — 

Ah, mine inheritance 
Hath gone from me. Within the outland vales 
A crafty chief made foray where the flocks 
Of many poor and lowly, scattered grazed; 
And spoiled the fields of harvests where his hand 
Had thrown no kernel in the seeding time; 
And garnered orchards that old women watched 
From flower to fruitage with dim, anxious eyes, 
Mocking their tears with many a laughing jest 
And scoff at all their pleading. Yet, he thrives, 



BETHESDA. 87 



This Mahu Jael, while he scorns the law. 
Yea, while my heritage he harried sore — 
And drove me forth alone, still was he blest. 
So my inheritance hath passed away 
And to my children poverty hath come. 

Then spake a Greek, an epicurean called, 

Clad in soft raiment but with manner cold. 

Why raise thy voice complaining that the stroke 

Of Mahu Jael heavy on thee lies. 

Match thou his craft with guile, his force with 

strength. 
His plotting with thy patience. Know'st thou not 
That men, like vipers, struggle, and the strong. 
The wise, the resolute rear head aloft 
And hiss, triumphant, while the vanquished lie 
Broken and crushed. Go seek thy place afar 
From toil and struggle. Mahu Jael's head 
Shall fall like thine at last and all be done. 
What will it matter. Who will bear the tale 



88 BE THE SB A. 



Unto our children's children, or will care 

That thou wast spoiled; that Mahu Jael laughed, 

Or that I touched thy sorrow with rebuke. 

With slow, uneasy thought I heard his words 
As if I — half unmeaning — shared their guilt. 

Then we the blind man guiding with our sight, 
And he our weakness aiding with his arms, 
Sought once again our places by the pool 
Curtained anew with shadows. But that eve 
We were more sad, as if the stars more far 
Were drawn within the sky, and hope more faint 
Would mingle with the coming of the dawn. 

Light fell the snow upon Jerusalem; 
'Twas years thereafter, and within the porch, 
From out the falling flakes, the loiterers drew, 
And with them came the homeless and the weak 
Who knew no other shelter. Then I heard 



BE THE SD A. 89 



Once more of Mahu Jael. For the Greek, 

His face grown older but his eye alert 

And manner affable, came with the rest. 

He to my query answered, yea, I knew 

This Mahu Jael to the day he died. 

And ever as of old he scorned the law. 

Lived long by the strong hand and strangled fell 

By stronger hands than his. A wild wolf's cry 

That rose and sank to silence, that is all 

Of Mahu Jael in his life and death. • 

Nay, 'tis not all. So, clear and shrill, a voice 
Made answer to the words. He cannot die 
Save in the flesh that he hath left behind, 
As the brown beetle on the cedar's side 
Leaves empty shard when he himself hath passed 
Into a life renewed. 

I, list'ning turned 
And saw one clad in raiment torn and old, 



90 BE THE SB A. 



Of camel's hair close woven. On his beard 
Lay lucent drops of hone3\ In his hand 
Were locusts crisped by fire, whereof he ate 
The while he said to us. 

The merciless 
Hath gone to judgment and his doom is wrought 
In flame unmerciful through endless days. 
And he who justice mocked doth justice know. 
For God is just. In all consuming fire 
That yet consumes not his keen consciousness. 
Are memories like sting of asps to him 
Of wrongful purpose and the fruit it bears 
On, on, and on, until the world shall end. 
And all the good he scoffed unto his thought 
Is clear and vivid, and in shadowy forms 
Reveals to him the good that might have been. 
Had he but willed it, till the world shall end; 
And yet was not nor evermore shall be. 
For God is just. Yea, every deed shall bear 



BETHESDA. 91 



According to its kind, as 'mid the hills 
Each drifting seed hath kindred in its yield ■ 
Of more than is itself. 

Then who shall bear, 
The Greek replied, the weight of his own sin, 
Though he be sorrowful before he dies 
That no atonement made he in his day. 
And now the time be gone. Aye, who shall pay 
Of his own debt of evil at the last. 
Repent. Repent, and ye shall have of time. 
Replied the prophet. There is One who comes — 

But, ere his words were finished, from the street 

Came voice of ribaldry and clank of chain, 

And a decurion with his followers came. 

They seized the prophet. With rude hands they 

bound 
The iron links on unresisting limbs. 
King Herod wills, they said, thy rebel heart 



92 BE THE SB A. 



Shall break in dungeons by the pitchy sea; 
For thou hast spoken ill of one he loves. 
Grasping his beard they bore him speedily 
Forth from our midst, and him I saw no more. 

From seedtime unto harvest steadfastly 
The lagging seasons rolled, and one by one 
These my companions left me. Intervals 
Of years were lain between but I alone 
At last remained. Nor any joy was mine, 
Through any of the evanescent days. 
When they were gone. For alien every face 
Saving these three to me. Nor any voice 
Other than theirs attuned to friendliness. 
Yet in the joyless hours I yet rejoiced 
For peace was theirs, and gentleness; and care 
Was gone from them afar. For so it was 
That all from me went out into the day, 
The shadows dusk behind them and the light 
On their glad faces. One by one they went 



BE THE SD A. 93 

And all my throbbing heart went out with each. 
While I was left to watch the shadows play 
Upon the eddying water, and the leaves 
Float here and yon as soft winds wafted them. 

For once there came a morning when the stars 
Shone dull and red through all the filmy haze. 
As was his wont the blind man on the brink 
Sat him a-low with unexpectant trust. 
A ruffian from the Arab wilderness, 
Swart, strong and lithe as desert tigers are; 
Drunken with lees from outcast wineskins drawn, 
And wild with all the terror Ishmael knows 
Within the walls of cities, frantic sprang 
Into our midst. With reckless arm outswung 
He smote the sightless watcher that he fell. 
And at the instant, lo! the waters swayed 
Sweeping the blinded face, caressing it 
With softly flowing touch and lapping low 
The fallen form with ripples delicate. 



94 ' BETHESDA. 



He rose and saw the glory of the sun 

New born beyond the east. He marked the clouds 

Like silver mantles flung upon the sky: 

The dim green of the olives, and the shine 

Of almond leaves, afar: the shade that wove 

A fretwork from the branches where the breeze 

Slow swayed them to and fro: then scanned each 

face 
In wonder turned toward him; but he knew 
Not us who shared his solitary years 
Until we spake with loud rejoicing words, 
But with a little envy in our hearts 
That shrank ashamed ere it ourselves we knew, 
For he was hale as aged men are hale 
Who all their days have honor'd God's behests. 
And peace was on his forehead and his lips 
Were sweet with sympathy for us who lay 
Still bounden in the bondage of our woe. 
Behold, He said. As dwell one family 
Within a peaceful tent in lonely lands. 



BE THE SB A. 95 



So underneath the arches have we stayed. 

I go not hence but to return again. 

A little while I wander where the graves 

Of all my people be. A little while 

Shall note the strangeness of the hills and mark 

How the old paths are changed that thread the vale. 

And with awakened sight shall see once more 

The changeless wild flowers bloom, as long ago 

I saw them in the fields. But on each day 

That comes before the sabbath I will come 

And we shall speak again our simple words: 

Again shall know each other, and the hearts 

Of each shall open in all kindliness. 

And if it chance I come not, and no word 

Before the sabbath hear ye, know that I 

Have passed beyond the twilight into day 

Whence never voice returneth. 

Then he went 
In the new risen sunlight, but each noon 



96 BETHESDA. 



When drew the sabbath near he came to us; 
Sometimes with ripened clusters from the vines 
Of distant vintage grown, sometimes with dates 
Gathered beside the narrow path that led 
From the far fountain down; with pomegranates 
And figs and carob pods of sweeter taste 
Than on the wild trees grew. And roses oft, 
With tender lilies from the wayside dells, 
And mosses woodland grown. At last a day 
Before the sabbath passed nor heard his step 
Upon the stones, or saw his shadow cast 
Between the pillars. Then we knew that he 
Was nevermore for us. 

Then after years 
Crept by more slowly still. One leaden morn 
When thin clouds veiled the sky and airs were 

cold 
Though scarce the wet leaf stirred beside the wall; 
We heard the sound of hautbois floating near 



BE THE SB A. 97 



In measured cadence, and the shriller tone 
Of loud blown dulcimers. The steady tread 
That warriors keep beneath a chieftain's eye. 
The rattling of the sword on greaves of steel, 
And clinking of the mail on jarring shields. 

Anon within our sight the gleam of spears. 

The orderly array of armed men, 

And in their midst a litter high upborne; 

A crimson canopy above, below. 

Fair golden tassels trailing, and around 

Broad curtains broidered with the strange designs 

The women of Euphrates weave and blend. 

For now a satrap, from beyond the hills 

That mark the utmost limit of our land, 

Laid low by poison and anear the grave 

Had come to seek for healing in the pool. 

When stopped they by the brink we fell away. 

Crowded on either hand, and left clear space 

For litter and for bearers, while they paused 



98 BE THE SD A. 



To wait the troubled waters. But the youth, 
A youth no more but with thin scattered threads 
Of silver in his beard, more bold than all 
Drew close unto the litter till he touched 
The drooping tassels, and with smiling face 
Made friendship with the soldiers. So he placed 
His hands upon the smooth and burnished shields. 
And of their inlaid silver traced the course 
With curious fingers. And with pleased eyes 
Noted the inwrought armlet of the chief, 
The golden ornaments each cuirass bore, 
And the keen spears and crescent cimetars: 
The while the hautbois spake more low, and less 
Of strident tone came from the dulcimers, 
Until they ceased. 

And we were silent all. 
So silent that I heard, far overhead, 
A little sound as if a bee had thrown 
Himself against the ceiling, or a twig 



BETHESDA. 99 



Wind borne had rustled on the sloping roof: 

Yet sibilant as if a viper's tongue 

On high had darted and then hid again. 

Then, downward shot from where the highest arch 

Its keystone hid in shadows, fell a stone 

Age-loosened from its place. 

Like gossamer 
The silken folds that crowned the canopy 
Were riven as it fell. Above the head 
That lay upon the pillow swung the hand 
Unscathed of old by fire. Yea, as it caught 
The white-faced bee long since in idle play 
Thus now it seized the stone, then cast it down 
So that it fell in ripples in the pool. 

The Satrap spake. Beyond the mountains far 
A hundred thousand people sleep in peace. 
And rise in peace at morn, and through each day 
In peacefulness pursue the pleasant round 



BETHESDA. 



Of life and labor all devoid of fear. 

For I in justice rule them. Long ago, 

Ere age had tempered all my fiery blood, 

I laid up need of all atonement man 

May make unto his fellows. Thou has gained 

For them, of blessed years, and fair for me 

The yet atoning time. 

Behold, He said. 
On yon dull water bubbles rise and fail 
And glisten in the glamour of the sun. 
Then lay me down upon these pavement stones, 
Aye, at this cripple's feet, and bear him in 
When highest thrown the troubled waters break. 
And, as he bade, they laid the litter down, 
A burning heap of splendor, where the rays 
Threw their new risen light. Then speedily 
They placed the cripple where the waters rose. 

He knelt and kissed the graven armlet then, 
With grateful streaming eyes, then turned aside 



BETHESDA. 



To us his old companions. Nevermore 

Be sad, quoth he, for ere the Sabbath dawns 

Shall ye be whole. Behold me, I am strong. 

And when the satrap healed has gone away 

Another morrow comes, and one again. 

And on these mornings will I bear ye in 

Ere yet the crowd can pass. For now mine arms 

Can smite the rabble back, and ye shall live 

In healthful strength, lo, yet these many years. 

Into the sunlight passed he. 

Never yet 
Had sunshine been so bright to us who stayed 
Counting the hours 'till he should come again. 
But nevermore his shadow on the stones 
Did we behold. A Thracian troop went by, 
'Twas so they told us, as he trod the street 
In all his new born vigor. With the sound 
Of the shrill trumpet all his heart was filled. 
His eyes were dazzled with the shine of spears 



BETHESDA. 



And glitter of the mail. The heavy tread 
In measured time allured his footsteps on: 
A shrewd centurion called him, as he came 
With mimic martial air, persuading him 
That he should be a warrior. So, the path 
That led unto the pool he knew no more. 

We missed his boyish converse and were sad 

That he forsook us in our dreary need; 

And, lonelier still, each nearer drew to each 

In sympathy of sorrow. Each with each 

Had thoughts the same. 'Though we together sought 

To make the burden on our hearts more light, 

The years were longer and the days more dark; 

We heeded not the changes of the hours. 

Nor recked we of the news the gossips brought. 

The alms grew scantier and the looks more cold; 

Full fourscore years the widow now had known, 

And I was old with weariness of time. 



BETHESDA. 103 



She spake not of to-day or yesterday. 

But oft repeated she the stories o'er 

Of her own youth and childhood. How she wrought, 

In patient trustfulness, of garlands fair 

That fell in fragments when unto her brow 

She fain would lift them: and how oftentimes 

They Hkened her to the gazelle that springs 

On Sinai's desert borders. How she saw, 

One drowsy eve, the camels winding come 

To where the fountain flowed; and how she met 

The camel driver there as once, she said, 

Beside the well Rebecca found her lord. 

And how she wedded. How, along the path 

That led unto her dwelling, citrons trailed 

Their golden fruit wherewith the children played. 

How, suddenly, there came the deadly plague 

And smote them all, save her. How, desolate. 

With her own hands she digged the graves, and laid 

The sun-parched turf upon their quiet breasts. 

Then would she sit and rock her to and fro, 



I04 BETHESDA. 



With low, soft moanings, and with crooning words, 
And hands upon her knees and arms half bent 
As if the dead they cradled in their fold. 
Sometimes in dazed imaginings she said 
Her children waited for her in the vale 
Beyond the mountains: that their voices cried 
Upon the slow winds, asking she should come. 

The months grew longer than the years had been, 
And fair sweet days of evanescent spring 
More dull than first had seemed the latter rain, 
When gloomy vapors filled the narrow street. 
Our home had grown the arches, and the dark 
And starlight of the night beheld us there. 
The widow, on a mat of woven reeds 
Grown on Abana's edges, hid herself 
Behind the pillars for her restless sleep. 
I, in the outer porch on sackcloth couch 
A water bearer gave me when the pool 
The bruises of a fray had healed for him. 



BE THE SD A. 105 



And oftentimes the nights were cold and we 
Cared not to see to-morrow. Oftentimes 
The dogs from out the city lanes stole near, 
And with damp nostrils touched our sleeping eyes, 
Then finding us alive gave yell and shrank 
With crouching haunches into dark again. 

At last a morning came, and I, alone, 
Gazed on the shimmering water in the ray 
Of the last starlight. 

For when midnight came 
I heard a low voice call me and I woke. 
'She knelt beside me and within her eyes 
-A glad light shone. Her aged face was fair 
With smiling calm and peace ineffable. 

Behold! she said, an Angel I have seen. 
Yea, He who stirs the pool, . I waking lay 
Watching the thin clouds drift across the sky 



io6 BETHESDA. 



To hide the stars and send them forth again; 

When suddenly a Presence near me stood, 

Clad in white raiment and with folded hands, 

And sandals flecked with grains of desert dust. 

Around his head a halo of soft light, 

yet not of sun or star, but like the glow 

A distant beacon launches to the sky 

From some far hillside hidden from our sight. 

And there was kindness in his eyes, and strength 

In all his limbs, and thought was on his brow; 

And a sweet sadness played around his mouth. 

In his low voice was all the melody 

Of holy chanting heard from aisles afar; 

Yet breathing simple words. What wouldst thou have? 

He asked of me; and pleading I replied: 

Oh! Gentle Master, I would have the days 
Of peaceful rest that knew me long ago, 
When I a child beside the fountain played 
And wove me garlands of the early flowers. 



BE THE SB A. 107 



Aye, kind, good Master, I would know again 

The joy that in the twihght came to me 

To watch the camels coming one by one 

Along the winding road, the peace I knew 

When I in ashes baked the millet bread 

For him who ruled our home. Yea, give to me 

Oh, Blessed Lord, the voices that I heard 

My little children speak so long ago. 

Yea, Master, if I go beyond the hills 

There shall I find them. I am weak and old 

But if the pool but heal me I shall go. 

I left them there and they are waiting me 

And wondering why I come not unto them. 

But I am broken now and all my frame 

Is weariness and woe. When comes the dawn, 

Into the pool, oh. Master, bear me in 

That I, made strong, may yet return to them. 

The while I prayed the halo round His head 
With deeper luster shone. In lordlier guise 



io8 BETHESDA. 



His snowy raiment flowed. His gaze more deep 
Sank searching into mine — until, afeard, 
I dropt mine eyes and listened. Yea, I heard. 
■So shall it be, He said, and when the dawn 
Shall shine upon the ripples thou shalt know 
All this thou askest. Then a little while 
I waited in the silence. When I looked, 
Lo, He was gone. 

Then, thinking she had dreamed, 
But seeking still to comfort her, I said 
Yea, sister, it is well, rejoice and hope. 
And rest until the morning. We shall see — 
But ere my words were ended, slow her eyes 
'Closed in a peaceful sleep. Upon her lips 
A sweet smile played as if a pleasant thought 
Too tired for utterance had lingered there. 
And as a child will lay its drowsy head 
Upon a grassy bank or sloping knoll, 
So laid she down her forehead on my breast 



BETHESDA. 109. 



And answered not my words. Nor evermore 
Knew she of earth the weariness and woe. 

He is alone who hath no friend anear 

Although earth's hosts were marshalled at his side. 

And I, alone, while other years went by 

Recked not their course, or heeded what they brought 

Of shine or shadow to the outer world. 

And so it happed one morn I brooding lay: 

Whereon One spake, in snowy raiment clad, 

How long, oh, man, art thou abiding here 

And wherefore seek'st thou not the troubled wave 

Thence passing forth rejoicing. Lo, I cried 

In bitterness of heart, can these weak limbs 

Wrestle with all the crowd? How, poor and old, 

Shall I find bearers when the waters rise? 

My trembling limbs are bruised by the stress 

Of many jostling feet. Here, thirty years 

And eight have laid their lash upon my brow 

In groove and wrinkle, and abiding snow 



BETHESDA. 



Is on my beard. The mockers mock at me 
With spurning thrust and rudely uttered jest, 
And bid me seek for healing in the pool. 

And as I, angered, answered, from His eyes 
A soft clear light outshone. Around His head 
The morning rays seemed bended to a crown. 
In majesty He stood. His vesture white 
With graceful folds descended to His feet 
Whereon were sandals reddened by the touch 
Of the dun desert pathways; and His hands 
As dove's wings waver low above the cote 
Waver'd above my head as if to bless. 
The while He spake in accents vibrant, clear, 
Commanding as the brazen trumpet's blast, 
Yet kindly as the viols dulcet sound: 
Arise and take thy bed and hence depart 
Thy heavy penance done; thy sin atoned: 
And breathe again the glory of the air 
That sweeps among the hills, and in the vales 



BETHESDA. 



Sleeps stilly in the sun. Then He was gone 
Ere yet the import of His words I knew. 

Through all my veins there came a glow of strength, 

And my dim eyesight cleared, so I could see 

Of distant birds the flight, and at my feet 

The little red ants crawling in the dust. 

And then, as I was bidden, forth I went 

Into the outer day. The narrow street 

To me was golden in the mellow morn, 

And all things fair and sweet and full of peace. 

Above the wall the myrtle's starry blooms. 
And dark leaves tremulous on slender sprays, 
Recalled the path to Hebron, and I passed 
Out through the gate and southward went my way 
With sturdy steps and firm, with nostrils wide 
Inhaling with deep breath the cheery air. 
And when the noon drew nearer and the heat 
Brought languor to my feet, I loitered slow 
And sought amid the herbage that I trod 



BETHESDA. 



For herbs to please my senses. There I found 
Rare mandrakes that, divided, semblance gave 
Of bearded faces in their cloven walls: 
That cried as from the earth I drew them forth, 
So I might eat them with a cloying tongue. 
I from the mallow gathered musky seeds 
Rejoicing in their odor. 

Then mine eyes 
Recalled once more the beauty of the flowers, 
Of lilies, and of Sharon's daffodils. 
And roses of Damascus purple strown. 
The storax branches bearing blooms of snow 
Out-thrown from leaves, that swaying in the wind, 
Showed white and green alternate. And mine ear, 
Having its share of all the joyous toil 
Of knowing earth again, took heed and heard 
The warble of the song thrush and the lark; 
And from the olive groves the bulbul's note 
In full-toned melody. 



BE THE SB A. 113 



But taking heed 
That fast the hours were wasting, on I trod 
With measured step and steady. Soon I saw 
The sparrows sit alone upon the rocks, 
And sohtary storks on loftiest trees 
By low, rude dwellings, at whose open doors 
The women sat and sang, beside the mills 
Slow turned to grind the corn, although the sun 
Was speeding to the west. From this I knew 
That Hebron lay a little way before; 
Fair Hebron, with her vineyards and her palms! 
But, wearied with my journey, loitering, 
I sought for fallen dates; and 'neath an oak 
Lay down and slept, and when I startled woke 
The stars had risen, and the early night 
Was calm and clear. 

Across the silent air 
A shawm's loud blast rose strident and anear; 
In lower tones came tinkling of a harp. 



114 BETHESDA. 



So, from this token, by the well, I knew 
The dancers made them merry in the eve. 

Then I forgot the eight and thirty years 

Since 1 the wine-gourd drained beside the spring, 

And all my outworn raiment, and my beard 

Grown white as citron blossoms in the spring. 

And when I, joyous, joined it, all the crowd 

Had gibe, and laugh, and little wanton jest 

Wherewith to vex me: Will the old man dance? 

Cried one, her hair unsnooded, and her arms. 

Each gentle curve displaying, on my neck. 

Whereat they shouted lustily and sang 

Rude songs to further laughter, till awaked 

To all the change in me, I felt mine eyes 

The unresisted tears drop slowly down, 

So that they ceased, abashed. Oh, youths! I said, 

And joyous maidens! Life and love are sweet 

As sounds of music in the silent night. 

But night and music vanish, and the joy 



BE TB BSD A. 115 



Is ended in its time. An hour to dance, 

And yet an hour to sing, was said of old 

When wise men taught our fathers. Let the song 

And cadence of the viol charm the night 

Ere yet the days of evil come, when ye 

May find no pleasure in them! On each head 

The old man leaves his blessing and departs. 

But lonelier than of old, when I beheld 

The idle leaves adrift upon the pool, 

I went my way into the outer fields. 

Nor cared to seek the town. Where melons grew 

I found a hut on sturdy stakes upraised 

Above the vapors of the teeming earth; 

Its ragged thatch gave shelter till the morn. 

And now, I said, Engedi's fount is far, 

But it shall I behold ere sunset falls. 

Then with free feet I trod the winding path 
In cool of morning, and in noontide glow. 



ii6 BE THE SB A. 



I gathered herbs that in the meadows grew. 

And fruits from branches shaken by the breeze. 

By wayside springs I knelt for pleasant draughts, 

And peace was in my heart, such peace as knows 

The bird free flown in air, or lizard lain 

In safe luxuriance in the sultry sun. 

Yea, more than this, before me on my way 

A scorpion lay unfolded, yet the staff 

Within my hand forebore to injure him, 

And stepping quick aside I left him there; 

Rejoicing that with me he knew the warmth 

And shared with me the glory of the day. 

At last I saw a shadow trailing far 

Where a fair palm rose stalwart 'gainst the sky. 

Grown crimson in the west; I sought the well 

But was a stranger as I leaned and gazed 

Into its limpid depths. The clouds, the same 

As in the olden time, inverted there 

Swam gently on in silence, and the moss, 

As long ago, grew on the inner wall. 



BE THE SD A. 117 



But rank weeds were on all the earth around, 
The curb was broken and the hyssop gone. 

Then on my heart came weariness, and fain 
I was to weep. For all were gone away 
That once I knew nor could I follow them. 
Nor was there any one to seek for me. 
A drowsy bee droned past me and I said 
He seeks the crevice of the aged tree, 
Where mid the mould and odors of decay 
He findeth his own home and knoweth it. 
So let me see the porches once again. 
And old familiar sights, and hear the sounds 
Of all the turmoil of the city streets. 
So while the stars were shining, steadily 
I trod the way toward Jerusalem, 
And reached it at the dawn; but in an hour 
I tired me of the pool. The temple wall 
Was close beside and in the neighb'ring street, 
I sought its shadow in the sultry noon. 



BETHESDA. 



Beside the southern wall there graceful leaned 
A woman, one of Cyprus, with her hair 
In jetty curls on ivory shoulders thrown; 
With laughing eyes and with her rounded breasts 
Half shown by drooping of the careless robe, 
And with crushed camphire sweet and redolent. 
Beside her feet a wine jar: in her hand 
A taper cup of beryl. And she sang. 
Low voiced and clear, a soft alluring song. 

Oh. Drink the wine and it will banish care. 

And he that is alone shall need no friend; 

He that is old shall have his youth again. 

To him that drinks the wine new love shall come, 

And he whose heart is cold shall fervent find 

The red blood running warm within his veins. 

For him the curtains wove of orient weft. 

Their broidered folds shall sway in gentle airs. 

For him the henna's snowy cups of bloom 

Shall give their odor forth. Oh. Drink the wine, 



BETHESDA. 119 



And discontent shall vanish as the dew 

On Hermon fades before the breath of morn. 

From loneliness to mirth were precious change. 

With eager hand I reached to grasp the cup, 

The gay song answering with gayer jest, 

And ardent gaze on all the loveliness 

Her loosened robe disclosed. When suddenly, 

Beware, I heard in accents deep and strong 

As bid an arm upraised for evil deed, 

At once be stayed. Then knelt I at the feet 

Of Him who broke my bonds beside the pool. 

And cried, Oh, Abba, pardon, and the hem 

Of his white garment lifted to my lips, 

Fearing to raise mine eyes or see His face, 

Or hearken to his words of righteous wrath. 

Beware, He said. Have I not borne thy woe. 

And all thy sin from which thy woe outsprang: 

Sending thee forth rejoicing as of old 

When earth was fair to thee and youth was thine. 



BETHESDA. 



Then carefully take heed lest thou return 

Into thine old abasement and no help 

Unto thy misery come evermore — 

For mark thee, as the olive when its stem 

Is worn and old and bears but withered leaves, 

And falls beneath the burden of the wind, 

Is grown again from never dying root; 

So in the far hereafter shalt thou rise 

From thine old self of good or evil done. 

And verily I tell thee: They who mourn 

Shall comfort find, and all the humble share 

Jehovah's kingdom: and the merciful 

Have mercy for themselves. The earth shall yield 

Its blessings to the debonnair, and they 

Who bear pure hearts with their own eyes behold 

The ever living God. 

Then He was gone. 
The traffickers passed by me, each intent 
On his own errand. Low the Cypriote sang 



BETHESDA. 121 



Her song persuasive in alluring tones 
To one from Lebanon, a mountaineer, 
Nor on me glanced again. iVmid the .throng 
I found no comforting or thought of calm. 

The burning sun shone on the narrow streets. 

And drowsiness was brooding in the air; 

While sullen sultriness within my veins 

Crept slow and venomed; and my brain was dulled, 

And my faint heart was weary. Dreamily 

I communed with myself: Lo! I was made 

By Him who made the world. He made me thus, 

And wherefore on me lies the heavy load 

Of stern denial to the thoughts He gave, 

And all resistance to temptations sent 

In pleasant guise to make my days more fair, 

And make more sweet the life He gave to me; 

Yea, this, my life, whose wasting autumn comes 

With something of the summer in its fold? 



122 BETHESDA. 



While pondering thus I lingered where were sold 
The spices of the East, and strange perfumes 
Won from the herbs of many distant lands; 
And while I loitered, timid drew anear, 
From out the alien crowd, a form I knew; 
For sure none other had so graceful mien, 
Or bore such wealth of beauty in her hair — 
Sable as are the wings of birds that slay 
The swarming locusts on far Shinar's plains — 
Massive upon her shoulders, and, adown. 
Its fringes clinging to the flexile knee. 
Aye! She it was, and yet I scarcely kenned 
That it could be, so strangely was she changed; 
For high unto her throat there clung her robe, 
Wrapped careful on the rounded breast, and all 
Its loveliness concealed. Her step no more 
Was careless in its grace; the longing eyes 
Were mild as with the fire the starlight gives 
To the calm skies of harvest, and her mouth 
Was innocent as lips of childhood are, 



BETHESDA. 123. 



That know nor scorn, nor anger or of guile, 
Or any thought of wrong; and sweeter, far, 
Than when she sang of roses was her voice. 
Low-toned and tremulous, the while she asked: 
Hast thou rich spikenard— that which traders bring 
From the far plains beyond the purple sea. 
Sealed in the lucent kists of shining stone? 
And here is gold to pay its price withal. 

At this the merchant laughed: Who hast thou snared^. 

That he should scatter gold as leaves are blown, 

Or olives shaken from the autumn branch? 

And so from out thy curtains must the breath 

Of costliest perfumes waver on the night; 

Thy couch more odorous than all the fields 

On Sharon's slopes, where amorous roses grow! 

I would, he said, that I were but a girl, 

And not a trader in these costly wares, 

So I might gather gold with luring looks 

And dulcet singing of soft songs to men. 



124 BETHESDA. 



Then over the broad forehead and the cheek 

And on the gentle neck, like flush of dawn 

That deepens into scarlet, came a glow. 

And then, like snow upon a crimson bloom, 

Came deathly pallor, and from tremulous lips 

Half failing into sobbing came repl)^: 

Thy jest is evil and thy words are naught. 

These coins I earned by toiling in the fields 

Where crisping wheat and sturdy barle}^ drew 

Their rasping beards across these tender hands. 

The sickle wielded and the gavels bound 

From early morn when on ni}" arms there rained 

From the tall grain the cold night gathered dews. 

When the sun smote me until faintness came 

As from a burden heavy to be borne. 

Through the hot noontides when the wheat was dry 

And scattered kernels at each careless touch. 

Into the twilight when, new born, the dew 

Lay on the stubble; and the twisted straw 

Was pliant knotted on the yielding sheaf. 



BETHESDA. 12$ 



Yet every day was sweet with solace wrought 
In this, that all unblemished came the dole 
That guerdoned my long toil. For I had will'd 
To make a stainless offering to one 
Unstained by earthly guile. This gold is clean 
As holy is its purpose, void of wrong, 
Like to the sacrifice on altars laid 
By pure hands for pure hearts in olden time. 
As if her tears were dropping with her words 
Her low voice seemed, the while the precious kist 
She laid within the raiment on her breast. 
Then went upon her way with steadfast step 
And calm, untroubled eyes, and cheek that paled 
To dusky softness in the ardent day. 

Then, curious to know, I followed her 
And said. Oh, daughter, dost of roses sing 
As in old days, or art thou silent now 
With silence born of sorrow, for no joy 
Is on thy lip, though loving peace hath laid 



126 BE THE SB a: 



Her touch upon thy forehead. Wherefore this? 
I seek for rest and no rest comes to me. 

There is no rest, she answered, patience comes 
-And is to rest as is the Rabbi's prayer 
After the chanting of the rhythmic psahn: 
As cool of twiUght after quiet noons, 
Or stiUness of fair waters when their flow 
Has ceased in limpid lakes. 

A5^e, Aye, Quoth I, 
But wherefore patience when our wasted 3^ears 
Haunt us like shadows stalking by our side, 
And, mocking, point us to the void beyond. 

Not so, she said. The Nazarine doth say, 
And him we trust in humbleness and faith. 
That a sin offering for us shall be, 
And all atonement made for evil done, 
-For those who in His name do ask for it. 



BETHESDA. 127 



And we, relieved from soilare of our days, 

Shall purity of childhood know again: 

•So when the change that we call death hath come, 

We pass into a realm where peace doth reign. 

Whose gates are barred to sorrow, and where fear 

Is ever alien, and where innocence 

Disports itself in gladness in the light 

That like unchanging sunrise, gilds the throne 

Of God, our Father. So in faith we wait 

In penitence and patience for our rest. 

The while she spake a sudden uproar grew 

As of a crowd pursuing, and she fled 

Ere it should come to us. And as she ran 

I saw her little feet like swallows skim 

The stony way; her graceful limbs that swayed 

Within her loosened raiment as the branch 

Of some fair vine swings pendant with its leaves 

Outblown by passing breezes, and her arm 

Like tawny ivory bended to her breast 



128 BE THE SB A. 



To hold the casket mid a gathered fold 
Of drooping raven hair. 

Now all my thoughts 
Were grown confused and dim. As in a dream 
I saw my mother's face and heard her say 
That we should rest when all of life was done, 
As she had spoken ere the harvest moon 
On her closed eyelids shone. Anon, I thought 
Of the high mountain whence the trav'ler saw 
The crimson sun at midnight rise again 
To a new day withouten dark between. 
And then it seemed, from patience into rest, 
Was whispered in mine ear. Then rude the tale 
Of the wild robber chief returned to me. 
And how his woe endureth evermore; 
How all of evil, more than sevenfold 
After its kind doth bear of bitter fruit. 
I thought of guilt and the enduring scourge 
Of memory when all the joy is gone 



BETHESDA. 129 



That made its apples sweet. The Prophet's words 

Came hollow sounding back; so, on and on, 

Till time shall end, our deeds shall follow us, . 

Yet there is One who cometh. To and fro. 

Like the swift shuttle in a weaver's hands, 

The riddle sounded in my weary brain 

Of whom it was so promised! Then to me 

Came recollection of the legend old 

The youth had told concerning Solomon 

In his last day, when all of vanity 

Was the wide past to him: when high were drawn 

The curtains from the ages yet to be. 

Where he beheld afar' a Stronger rise, 

Yea, One more wise and purer, from whose hands 

Upon the poor should benediction come. 

Dazed and distraught I rose and ere I knew, 
I was beyond the city gates, the fields 
Were green beside me. 



I30 BETHESDA. 



All my heart was dust 
As was the ashen way beneath my feet. 
Behold, I said, there is no place for me, 
And all is doubt within me and without. 
An hundred days will I in deserts bide 
With prayer and fasting: and in solitude 
Mayhap will wisdom find a voice for me 
And guidance give. 

I sought the wilderness 
And ate of bitter herbs; from brackish springs 
I slaked my thirst, and many vigils kept. 
Yet all was vain, though visions came to me, 
Bloodless and cold in watches of the night, 
And fiends tormenting in my loneliness. 
Until the hundreth morn was come and gone, 
Aye. All is vain I said, there is no light 
Save of these senses, like a glowworm's spark, 
Whose evil odor mingles with its ray 
And marks it of the earth. Then through my brain 



BE THE SD A. 



131 



There shot the sensuous pleasure of the thought 
Of the fleet feet whose graceful steps I saw 
Flee from the crowd, a hundred days before, 
And the round arm and buoyant, springing limbs. 
Then, like rebuke, the memory of her face, 
Chastened with sorrow, yet alight with trust. 
Came o'er me as I walked, and all her words — 
Forgotten until now — returned to me: 
The Nazarine hath spoken. Who is he? 
For out of Nazareth no good may come. 
They said, when I was young. Now I am old. 
And still they say the same. 

In querulous thought 
And motiveless, I wended t'ward the gates; 
But ere I reached them came a traveler — 
Cheery of face — and met me on the way. 
The Nazarine? quoth I. And who is He? 
And what His work, and where shall Him I find? 
Ah! He is dead! he answered; and the crowd 



132 BE THE SD A. 

Is laughing at the jest. Between two thieves 
They slew Him on the cross! Jerusalem 
No more is troubled with the Nazarine. 

Then stunned as one, from out a dreamy sleep, 
Wakes to the glare of noonday — Lo, I said, 
This, too, is vain, and hope but mocks at me! 

Sad sought I, then, the ford of Kedron, where 
The road leads to the fields, and sat me down; 
And from mid afternoon till sunset came 
I pondered on my days: 

And one by one 
Each old experience came back to me 
Like pictures 'broidered on dark silken folds 
Of curtains passed before me. At my side 
There chirped a robin, borne on weary wing, 
And with unwonted crimson on its breast. 



BETH BSD A. 133 



'The Nazarine hath spoken!' seemed to me 
As words far floating in a tender voice, 
Remote and tremulous, from out the air. 
Then from my arid eyehds sprang the tears, 
And in meek tones I murmured: Father, Hear! 
Though now it be the Nazarine is dead, 
And Him I knew not with mine earthly sight. 
As He hath done for Thy most favored ones, 
So let Him do for me; and in His Name 
And for His sake let light henceforth be mine 
For guidance into rest! 

The deepened shade 
Crept down from Olivet, I shook the dust 
From my worn sandals t'ward the city gates, 
In purpose to depart, but loitered, still. 
Uncertain whither should my footsteps go. 
Softly I thought of Hebron's quiet graves. 
Wherein, of old, the two I loved were laid. 
And were they sunken so that alien feet 



134 BE THE SD A. 



Athwart them trod, unknowing? Did the rose 
Bloom by them as long since? And were the palms, 
Sprung from the seeds of Egypt, stately there, 
With growth unkenned by me? 

Then thought more harsh 
Of who had known me in the distant days 
Would hail me now in Hebron, save with gibes; 
How they whose grandsires knew me in my youth 
Would mock my ragged garb. No more, I said. 
Need I that pathway travel. Thence afar 
To Emmaus or Gadara I will go; 
There no man's memory may my name recall. 

With purpose steadfast and unswerving feet 

I hied me on my way. But scarce an hour 

Was gone before I paused. A woman, bent 

With weight of beggary and famished toil. 

Stood by the wayside with extended hands. 

No word she spake; but her dark eyes were dulled 



BE THE SD A. I35 

As if by prayers unanswered, and her lips 

Trembled as if with asking long denied; 

Her snowy hair from wrinkled temples hung 

To shrunken shoulders, and her fingers brown. 

Were like the talons of the birds that come 

In times of famine from the distant hills 

To tear the scattered flocks. Unknown to me 

Her face and figure; but familiar still. 

As is a dream remembered in a dream. 

Faint and elusive to our clearer thought; 

And like a vision in a dream recalled 

Rose mine own sorrow through the faded years. 

When, from Engedi's vale, I sought the pool, 

And then — in strange inconsequence — the mound 

Whereon I planted seeds so long ago. 

And then a consciousness within my brain 

Seemed speaking silently, but heard withal: 

Even as from the mellowed earth does rise 

Bright palms from dusky seeds, so in thine heart 

Should mercy rise from sorrow. So, I sought 



136 BE THE SB A. 



Within my folded girdle. Thence I drew 
The two Denarii that the noble gave, 
And laid them in her hand. 

In quaver shrill 
Quoth she: The Lord will bless thee, for thy hand 
Is open to the poor and they are His. 
And, Shobab, look on me, knowst not the child 
That to her mother's garment clung the while 
She gave thee sombre seeds of Egypt's palm; 
Or yet the maiden who with timbrel's sound 
Hailed thee, beside the path, the afternoon 
Ye went returning from Jerusalem 
Toward the ripened vineyards long ago; 
Aye, in the distant years when we were young. 
Now, we are old and time for rest is near. 
So heed my words. For well my mother knew 
The runes that lay within the hidden kist, 
Beneath the throne of Solomon, the king 
Of Judah and of Genii; and whom God 



BE THE SD A. 137 



Gave wisdom greater than to Sons of men. 

For God, our Father, speaks in many ways 

And guides us with the shadow of His hand. 

Which we deem darkness while it leads to light. 

As in far Thebes the tufted pinnacles 

Rear their green heads aloft, where holy ones 

Shall come to dwell in solitude and calm. 

So by fair Hebron's fountains rise the shafts 

Of palms thy hands have planted, and their leaves 

Sway gently o'er the graves of those ye loved. 

There go and rest shall find thee, and content, 

And placidness of thought, and peacefulness 

Free from all turmoil of the stormy world; 

Void of regret for all the years agone, 

And fear of those that yet may come to thee. 

Farewell, I answered, Sister, may His hand 
Deal gently with thy age, and peace be thine 
As thou hast willed for me. And as I spake 



138 BE THESDA. 



We turned and went upon our several way. 
She speaketh truth I said. 

The haunts of men 
Are nevermore for me; nor yet the fields 
Where solitude is brooding and my heart 
Aches in the void of silence. I recall 
Where close by Hebron lies the narrow road, 
The fountain yields its waters, and the dates 
By winds that sweep o'er autumn threshing floors 
Are scattered to the ground. There caravans 
Of traders come and go. There some are ill, 
With fevers of the desert; stricken some 
With wounds from battles foughten in the plains 
And fain would have of succor. I will go. 
Beside the spring a dwelling rude will raise 
And drive away the weeds with thrift of figs; 
With opulence of melons and of corn. 
There every morn of gentle toil shall bring 
Its due allotted portion, and each eve 



BE THE SD A. 139 



The promise of sweet sleep. Each noontide hour 
Shall bear the benison of pleasant rest 
Beneath the trees I planted long ago. 
So, germinal of all fair thoughts shall life 
Pass softly to its end, when I shall know 
The unread mystery that lies beyond: 
And from this flow'ring of my spirit here 
Shall gather distant fruitage. 

Thence I came; 
The Theban palms were buoyant in the breeze, 
Their stems like pillars rose against the sky, 
And, at their feet, the wild thorn-roses blew 
As in my youth I knew them. Though the graves 
Were leveled with the ground I kenned their place, 
And close beside them seemed a space for me. 
The twilight came, and darkness, yet I stayed 
For whither elsew^here should I seek my home? 

I sat beside the curb, a fallen stone 

Rounded and smooth made pillow for my head 



I40 



BETHESDA. 



Bowed low on bended arms. My drowsy eyes 

Closed wearily: no rest was in my heart. 

The thin voice of the creeping wind came faint 

Through the low herbs. It faded into tones, 

For now I slept, of softly breathing flutes 

Borne near and nearer. Then, through silver veils 

That changed to gold and crimson in the sky, 

Then cleft apart while azure shone beyond, 

1 saw the cherubim rise from the ark — 

The carven ark, that 'neath the temple roof, 

I saw lang syne — and from their lips there came 

Joining the slender music, joyous song. 

It is no dream, they sang; for God hath raised 
Beyond earth's darkened realm His palaces 
Wherein earth's sons and daughters strive no more 
With sorrow or with wrong. There love is fond 
Yet hath no passion; and there, gentleness 
Hath fear of no beguiling. Innocence, 
That knows no craft, is shining in each face; 



BETHESDA. 141 



And unto each his childhood comes again, 
Blent with the wisdom that his pilgrimage, 
Or brief or long, hath taught him. 

So they sang. 
And then, as if receding, sang again. 
It is no dream, they sang; it is no dream. 
Then as in silence their sweet voices died 
The azure cloud was lifted, and below 
I saw broad gardens. Mid the leafy shade 
Arose the domes of temples; and the air 
Was sweet and hazy with an incense smoke 
That rose unceasing to a hidden throne, 
Known by its soft effulgence thrown afar 
On the high skies. And in those fields beheld 
A little maid adorned with daffodils 
And coiling roses on her shoulders thrown. 
A dark face, sable bearded, on whose brow 
The helmet's mark seemed graven. More than all, 
Crowned Kvith ripe wheat that white as lilies shone. 



142 BETHESDA. 



My fair young mother, for from her was gone 

All that which was of sorrow or of toil. 

Yea, those I knew beside the distant pool 

Were there with them, and peace w^as with them all. 

I woke. The chill wind through the herbage crept: 
Coldly the starlight shone. The branched palms 
Threw far and clear a tracery of shade 
That wavered on the ground. But, at its edge, 
The sky bore silver promise of the dawn. 

Where reached the shadows when the sunrise came. 
I builded these stone walls beside the path. 
Upon them laid this roof of verdant turf; 
This garden digged where wanton weeds were grown. 
With mine own feet through yonder herbage wore 
The gray line of the path that meets the track 
That, through the vale, the traders traverse slow. 
Here have I borne the weary to my home, • 
And here have carried to wayfaring ones 



BE THE SB A. 143 



Of cooling water and of welcome food — 

Have knelt beside the dying; of the dead 

The wearied eyes have closed: and they who mourned, 

With words of comforting have lulled to sleep. 

So, in the change of never changing days, 
Long since came perfect peace. 

But yester-eve 
A new-found glory kindled all my heart 
With an exultant joy. A Canaanite 
Asked of me shelter, and beside my hearth 
Gazed keen into my face. Ah! Thou art he. 
He said, who long ago beside the pool 
Beneath the porches, at the Master's word 
Arose and walked, and bore thy bed away. 
Though not for thee the troubled waters rose. 
And knowst thou not the Master? He who lay 
Within the manger when the fleecy light 
Made aureole on the Virgin Mother's head; 



144 BETHESDA. 



He who to Egypt fled from Herod's wrath, 

And slept beneath a palm whose branch shall wave 

When dawns the Last Day on the earth redeemed. 

He whom they crucified on Calvary 

That even I, a Gibeonite, should live 

Free from the sin atoned for by His Blood. 

Yea; Shiloh, prophesied from olden time, 

Whose Kingdom is of Heaven, and whose sway 

Is in men's hearts, and over all the earth 

Shall spread in beams of holy blessedness. 

Then knew I who had healed me, and I knelt 
And invocation made. Oh, Father, hear: 
Although like barren fig trees are my days, 
As wirble of dead leaves on Autumn winds, 
Or stubble shorn by fire, yet I am Thine; 
My wrong atoned for and my burden cast 
Through Him whose agony hath purchased peace 
To all Thy children. Therefore bid me come 
To mine inheritance beside Thy throne. 



BE THE SB A. 145 



And if, Oh, Father, it may be Thy will, 
Then grant a sign that I perchance may ken 
When Thy call cometh and mine hour is near. 

Then, from an ashen cloud that rode the sky, 
A lambent light descended as a torch. 
Inverted, flares a moment and is gone. 
And by this symbol given, well I know 
That ere yon sun is hidden in the West 
My task is finished and my journey done. 



DIES IR^, 



Day of anger lurid breaking 
On the earth in ashes quaking, 
To its doom at last awaking. 



II. 

Through the cloud by lightning rifted 
See afar the Throne uplifted, 
Now shall every thought be sifted. 

III. • 

Clear and far the trumpet calling 
Stirs the dead from sleep enthralling 
Into consciousness appalling. 
146 



DIES IR^. 



147 



IV. 



Coming fearful, sadly, slowly, 
There the proud and there the lowly 
Gather in the Presence holy. 



V. 



Where the open volume's story 
Shows, of all the ages hoary. 
All of shame and all of glory; 



VI. 



None his record there denying; 
None unto the Judge replying; 
There, through justice, hope is dying. 



VII. 



How shall I, to sin assenting. 

Guilty, evil, unrepenting. 

Meet the Vengeance unrelenting. 



148 DIES JRyE. 



VIII. 



When the righteous, timid, fearing. 
Scarce are saved Thy presence nearing, 
And Thy words of judgment hearing? 



IX. 



Pardon, Father, my offending: 
For my weakness, vigor lending; 
To my doubting, faith extending. 



Hearken, Christ, Thy promise olden 
Clasp I now as anchor golden. 
That I from the wrath be holden. 

XI. 

Yea, for me Thy anguish bearing 
Long ago, the thorn crown wearing, 
Wilt Thou leave me now despairing ? 



DIES IR.E. 149 



XII. 



While my scroll of life is reading 
Aid me with Thy interceding 
While there yet is time for pleading. 



XIII. 



Humbled, bent, and bowed, and broken, 
Of Thy love I ask the token 
That Thy word for me be spoken. 



XIV. 



While I trust Thy mercy blending 
With the justice that, unending, 
But for Thee would be unbending,- 



XV. 



So that while the wicked, flying 
From the wrath, intense, undying, 
Fill the gloom with bitter crying,— 



I50 DIES IR^. 



XVI. 



Let me, as the sheep are riven 
From the goats to darkness driven, 
Place at Thy right hand be given, 



XVII. 



Safe from terror, dark, assailing; 
From the doomed ones' woe and wailing; 
At Thy fiery Throne's unveiling. 



THE REVERIE OF ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 



Far on from the fountains of morning to the deep 
flowing rivers of night, 
I pause for a moment and ask me: O wherefore the 
warmth and the Hght ? 
For the heat of the noontide but wearied, and the 
glow of its splendor denied 
To mine eyes the fair view of its glory in the blue 
of the heavens descried. 

And wherefore the cool of the twilight, for the herbage 
is drooping and dank, 
While the lizards creep out from the covert by the 
spring where the camels have drank; 
And I learn not the riddle eternal, why follows the 
night on the day, 
So^that all that the sunlight hath gilded by the even 
is hidden away. 



152 Z A THAN THE SADDUCEE. 

Thus blinded I toil in the noontide, and wearied I 
wait in the dusk: 
Shall I seek some oasis of silence sweet scented 
with roses and musk ? 
Shall I listen to voices persuading, that ask me to 
cease in the quest ? 
The low soft songs of Dalilah, slow lulling to treach- 
erous rest ! 

Shall I trust in the joy of the cymbal ? sounds blythe 
as of birds in the air: 
The calm of the fast and the vigil, the passionate 
peace of the prayer; 
They linger awhile and elude me, they cheer and then 
vanish away, 
As the cloud that one moment is crimson, at another 
drifts sodden and gray. 



ZATHAN THE SADDUCEE. 15: 



So the journey is vain and the labor, and the yearn- 
ing is vain and the trust, 
As the flower that springs up by the wayside and 
withers again to the dust. 
As the harvest that waves to the zephyr, with vigor 
and beauty aUve, 
Sinks into the ground with the earth-worm, and 
dies that another may thrive. 

And naught is the task I accomplish, and naught is 
the journey I go; 
For even as was the beginning, thus even the end- 
ing, I know. 
But a vanishing dream and a troubled, from the foun- 
tains that dance in the dawn 
To the sad, sullen waters that ripple where the glint 
of the sunshine is gone. 



CYMBALS. 



The distant voice of clanging cymbals broke 

Upon the air; a gypsy's wanton feat 
Of rattling music. Yet its echo woke, 

To the day-dreamer idling in the heat 
Of fervent noon, the sounds of far off lands 

And days remote. Of Magyar warrior's tread,- 
Of Moorish maiden's mirth, of voice of bands 

Rejoicing where Hebraic altars shed 
Of frankincense and myrrh their odors rare. 

Aye, of the elder time, when Egypt's hosts 
Went forth against the Assyrian land and there 

Made captive kings; returning with the boasts 
Of high wrought conquerors. And clamor high 

Of Bacchic dances where no longer fills 
The cup from Libyan vines: the frenzied cry 

Of Corybantes on the Phrygian hills. 
And joy of Jepthah's daughter ere her moan 
The cymbals silenced in far ages flown. 



THE BANSHEE. 



Where shone the firehght dying, I, a wee boy was 
lying 
Long ago, the while the grandames told in whispers 
low and wise. 
How on mountain and in valley, in broad mead and 
forest alley, 
The Banshee calls in sorrow before each mortal 
dies; 
And how a man wayfaring with full heart joyaunce 
bearing, 
May sudden hear the wailing voice and chill with 
horror grow: 
For he knows his home forsaken by one whose flight 
is taken 
When calls the mournful spirit from the meadow or 
the snow. 



156 THE BANSHEE. 



And I said, with childish valor, neither fear, nor faint, 
nor pallor 
Would come to me should e'er I hear the sad wraith 
crying lone: 
I would search until I found it, I would hold until I 
bound it. 
And wrenched from out its shadowy lips the secret 
of its moan. 
But not in summer's glory, nor yet in winter hoary, 
Though many a year of change and chance to me 
did come and go, 
Heard I the Banshee calling, till once, mid snowflakes 
falling, 
A voice came wailing, crying, from ayont the drifted 
snow. 



THE BANSHEE. i57 



I had ridden far, yet royal strode my bonny horse so 
loyal 
That with slackened rein I rode him across the 
broken ground, 
Till he sprang aside, affrighted, and his eye, with ter- 
ror lighted. 
Gleamed on me as I turned him when he started at 
the sound. 
For, with me, he heard the wailing, us both with fear 
assailing, 
And I scored him with the rowels and I gave him 
stroke and blow 
Till, while the snowflakes glistened, he trembUng 
stood and listened. 
Listened with me to the crying that came from o'er 
the snow. 



153 THE BANSHEE. 

I thought — I am belated, but for thirty years I've 
waited 
Since they told to me the legend of the death 
wraith's warning cry; 
And the marvel I'll be sounding if this horse of mine, 
rebounding. 
In the gully does not throw me where the broken 
branches lie. 
So, from the roadway drifted, through the field where 
deeper sifted 
The flakes like feathers floating on the night wind 
blowing slow. 
On through the wintry weather, the horse and I to- 
gether 
Plunged on to meet the Banshee far wailing in the 
snow. 



THE BANSHEE. 159 



So, the horse and I, his master, went onward fast and 
faster, 
While the snow spun light behind us as from the 
storm the spray. 
And the sound seemed far, and nearer, now duller 
and now clearer. 
Till he reared upon his haunches with sudden snort 
and neigh, 
Tor standing right before us where the rapid gallop 
bore us, 
A slender form was swaying, a wee bit form and 
low, 
With the snow wreaths heaped around her, my baby 
girl, I found her: 
My little girl, I found her, sadly crying in the 
snow. 



i6o THE BANSHEE. 



I knew not she had wandered and the dying daylight 
squandered, 
Chasing for the feathers that were falling from the 
sky, 
I her to the saddle lifted and through the snowbank^ 
rifted 
By the heavy horse's gallop, we bore her, he and I. 
Half an hour — the journey ended — light and shadow 
interblended 
Where the fire upon my hearthstone shone clear 
with steady glow. 
While the mother watch was keeping; in her low crib 
softly sleeping, 
Lay the weary little maiden, the Banshee of the 
snow. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



I. 

STIRLING. 

They told me how, in angry winter time 

From out the hills swept storms that marr'd the face 
Of the broad plain with sombre frost and rime. 

And locked the waters in their cold embrace. 
But now from battlements I saw the turn 

And glimmer of still rivers. All the strath 
Wore garniture of blossoms, Bannockburn 

Flowed peaceful from the hills devoid of wrath. 

So from the storm of shiver'd axe and spear, 
And clanging claymore straken on the shields, 

So long ago, the half a thousand year, 
On these far lying, low and level fields 

Came forth thy freedom, Scotia. For thy sword, 
In thine own hand, hath made thyself thy lord. 



1 62 HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 

II. 

CENOTAPH OF THE VIRGIN MARTYRS. 

Here, on the gentle air the white flower's scent 

Is sweet and heavy, from the low slope blown: 
And shadows of light branches careless blent 

Fall restlessly on pillar and on stone. 
But not for these my thought. Yon marble shows 

In sculptured grace, the tribute of our day 
To the fair maidens who, where Solway flows. 

With hearts untroubled trod the martyr's way. 

These were thy heroes, Scotland. And more great 
Were they than were the chieftains who, elate. 

Flung wide their banners on yon castled ridge. 
And I, — for that within these veins of mine 

Flows blood of Bunker Hill and Bothwell Bridge, 
Do stand with head uncovered by their shrine. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 163 



III. 

HOLYROOD. 

Gray walls unroofed, and with the open sky 

Serene and clear above the grass within. 
And o'er the tombs, wherein no longer lie 

The ashes of dead kings, grow mosses thin. 
Through the unwindowed arches, soft and sweet 

Blow summer winds; and lowly, golden crowned 
And rayed with silver petals, at my feet 

The wild weed-blossoms dot the hallow'd ground. 

Like to an old refrain, the moral kenn'd 

When wild flowers bloom where walls of stone decay 

And roofs are fallen so the high clouds send 
Far sailing shadows, soft and silver gray, 

Along the floor of ruined nave and aisle 

Where on the stones the mosses sleep the while. 



1 64 HO UR S IN SCO TLA ND. 



VENNACHAR. 

I rode along the edge of Vennachar, 

The wild rock-roses nodded by the lake. 
Slow swept the evening breezes. Thrown afar 

The shadows waver'd on the branching brake: 
And on the rock-rose shone the setting sun, 

Unshaded by the light clouds drifting by. 
The wild rose sprang above the herbage dun, 

So, thus it blooms, I said, 'neath ev'ry sky. 

And then I thought of many a story told 
To my far childhood, how ayont the sea, 

Lang syne my people dwelt. And cote and fold, 
And lake and rugged hillside, seemed to me 

Like pictures from old songs. So, far and nigh 

Hath Scotland kindred under ev'ry sky. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 165 



V. 

ACHRAY. 

Upon the lake the dusk fell dreamily, 

The coppice at its edge was damp and chill. 
Careless I flung a wild rose, wide and free 

The scattered petals floated where the hill 
Cast its broad shadow on the waters, dark 

And darker growing while the shadow waned 
Into the deeper darkness: and the mark 

White lined along the shore, alone remained. 

Then Una's legend, to my wayward thought, 
Took newer form as by the marge I stroll'd. 

And of the myth my fervid fancy wrought 
A picture fonder than was that of old. 

For Benvenue a couchant lion lay. 

And like a maid asleep was fair Achray. 



1 66 HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



VI. 
KATRINE. 

The sunlight on bright waters, then the shade 

Of sudden gathered clouds. Anon, the burst 
In wayward impulse of the rain that made 

A dotted level of the waves that first 
Were joyous in bright motion. Then again 

Lay light on lake and on the mountain brown. 
While purpler still from cooling touch of rain 

The tufted heather from the cliff looked down. 

Then, as we passed by Ellen's bosky isle, 
Thou hast beheld, I said, of all thy days 

The pictured reflex. Sun that shone the while 
Thine heart was careless, and whose mellow rays 

Died in the shadows, and the kindly sway 

Of light that came when storm was passed away. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 167 

VII. 

ARKLET. 

Loch Arklet hath of fame but little share 

Its narrow banks are broidered with the sedge 
Amid whose slender stalks the silt doth bear 

No harvest of sweet blossoms. At its edge 
No bourgeons of green branches droop and sway. 

Nor maze or vista opens at its side: 
The bracken cover'd braes are dusk and gray 

And no bright ripples on its breast abide. 

But yet beside its banks, a little space, 
The traveler lingers, for the tale is told 

That this dull water mirrow'd back the face 
Of the fair Helen whom Macgregor bold 

In yonder shealing wooed; that Rob Roy's bride 

Had humble birthplace by yon mountain side. 



i68 HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 



VIII. 
OBAN. 

A resting place was Oban for a night. 

The dark ridge rose behind. The sea before 
Swept rippling westward to the rosy light 

That heralded the eve. The clouds remote 
Were level lines of silver; and thereby, 

And interwove, the crimson lay afloat 

Upon the deep'ning azure of the sky. 

Aye, red and white and blue. In mine own land. 
These hues are of the sunrise and the dawn. 

Yea. From my dwelling on its eastern strand. 
Where now my children play upon the lawn, 

To fair Pacific coasts where soft and slow 
Upon my feet the wave lapped long ago. 



HOURS IN SCOTLAND. 169 



IX. 

Yea. Red and white and blue. The wand'rer calls, 

Back to his thought thy colors, where the skies 
Are alien o'er his head; though round him falls 

The voice of kindred speech, nor yet denies 
He fondness for the vales his people knew 

In the old days, ere thou, my native land 
Had raised thy starry banner, white and blue 

And sunrise-crimson on the distant strand. 

In the old days. Aye. That the seeding time, 
And these the realms wherein was freedom sown. 

Its harvest whitens in the happier clime 

Of mine own land beyond the western foam. 

Twas thus I ponder'd when the sunset burned: 

And in the morn my face was homeward turned. 



TO A PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 



I. 

With winsome smile, as if alive: 

She looks from Lely's canvas fair. 
Upon her cheeks the roses strive 

With lilies on the bosom bare. 
'Tis but a dream. Ten score of years 

Agone, she passed beyond the vale 
Of shadows, whence no form appears 

To tell the burden or the tale. 

Yet. As I joy to see the sun 
Shine placidly on field and lea; 

Or sparkle of bright waters run 

From forest fount to brimming sea; 

So, gladsome, to mine eyes appear 

These beauties, dust two hundred year. 
170 



FOR TRAIT OF NELL G W YNN. 1 7 1 



II. 

Aye. Gladsome smiles she on the wall. 

The student lingers as he looks, 
So he, forgetful, may recall 

His memories of the history books. 
For these the lips that, near the throne. 

And these the eyes, to prince and peer, 
Spake words of power in dulcet tone, 

Gave glance that boded woe or cheer. 

For thus since Eden's apples fell 

Hath of the world been will and way. 

Nor evermore shall stories tell 

Of hearts controlled by gentler sway, 

In evil days, when truth was fled. 
And courage faint, and honor dead. 



172 FOR TRA IT OF NELL G W YNN. 



HI. 

Full frail this lady was, and fond 

Of all that hermits feared and spurned. 
Not her's the pages saints have conn'd! 

Nor her's the lessons martyrs learned. 
Not her's the peace that mothers know 

Who call their children to the knee, 
And tell in whispers soft and low 

The legend sweet of Calvary. 

'Though rose and lily contrast yet 

On cheek and bosom languid shown- — 

'Twas thus the rose and lily met 

Ere yet two hundred years were flown- 

They show unto the thoughts of men 
The beauty of the magdalen. 



PORTRAIT OF NELL GWYNN. 173 



IV. 

Severe the thought. A shifting cloud 

Gave changing light on face and hair. 
On swelling bust and forehead proud 

And liquid eye, as thought was there. 
Then in the look there seemed a touch 

Of soft reproach, as who would say: 
Ah. Life was sad, and overmuch 

Of warfare mingled with the play. 

The little play of laugh and smile 
Atoned by sorrow's secret hour; 

The strife with evil, need, and guile 
Where love doth yield and duty cower. 

So seemed to say, with meaning clear, 

The soft eyes, closed two hundred year. 



ASPHODELS, 



In summer time, in sunny France 
Eight hundred years ago 

The sunset shot with dart and lance 
Through branches dense and low, 

On courtly knight and lady fair: 

In garden all ablown; 
Its odors sweet upon the air, 

And colors gayly strown. 

He gather'd gently from the ground 
Three flowers of varied hue, 

Lo, Here, he said, a sign be found 
Of that which thou shal't do. 



ASPHODELS. 175 



Here, purple to its heart, the rose; 

The lily's snowy breast. 
And here the asphodel that grows 

Where holy saints have rest. 

So hold them, while in yonder cloud 
The crimson fades to gray; 

And tell me ere the vesper loud 
Hath closed the pleasant day, 

Is not the rose more fair, more sweet, 

Than is the lily's bloom, 
Or golden asphodels that meet 

The sunshine on the tomb? 

Her soft eyes drooped; afar the sky 

To silver ashes grew; 
While still the twilight wind crept by 

And slowly fell the dew. 



176 ASPHODELS. 



No words were hers, to cheer or chide. 

She gave the asphodel, 
And low and broken words replied 

In brief and sad farewell. 

The roses drooped, the lilies died 
And snows lay on the plain. 

Anon, There brought the summer tide 
Its garden blooms again. 

Of asphodels upon her pall 
With careful hands they laid. 

Gather'd beside the convent wall 
In cold and ashen shade. 

In mail he lay, in alien land, 

On field of battle won; 
With asphodels in glaived hand 

That grew on Ascalon. 



THE MONK OF CAPRI. 



The boats that rocked by Capri's shore 

Were blest by priest the summer morn; 
But I, a reckless youth, forebore 

To bow my head, and laughed to scorn 
The prayer low-toned, and benison: 

Despite the grieving words I heard 
From one I loved and wooed and won 

Where Capri's almond branches stirred 
Beside the sea. I cried, The voice 

From sable cowl is not for me, 
The brave and strong; await, rejoice, 

I yet return to wed with thee. 

The fishers of the coral deeps 

By buoyant winds were borne away 



178 ■ THE MONK OF CAPIU. 

Far to the South, where Afric sleeps 

Beneath the glow of tropic day. 
Our dredges from the deck we cast 

Through many a week of weary toil 
Amid the reefs; until at last 

Our boat was weighted with the spoil. 
Then day by day the joyous sun 

Our shadows threw upon the foam, 
Until, the northward journey done, 

We saw the towering cliffs of home; 
And signalled gayly, while a song 

Broke from my lips in cadence free; 
Oh, maiden, list, the time was long, 

Yet I return to wed with thee. 

Ay, arms as brown as almond husk 
Shall clasp me as I come, I said, 

And soft eyes glancing in the dusk 
Are mine to o^reet ere eve be fled. 



THE MONK OF CAPRI. 179 

They hailed us as we touched the pier 

With shout and laugh from one and all, 

But not for me were hail and cheer, 
I of it only this recall:^ — 

The cowl thrown back from steadfast eyes, 

The low voice toned in sympathy, 
That said, My son, awake, arise, 

Though death its woe hath sent to thee, 
Our Father's peace be on thy brow; 

The light that yet on sea or land 
Hath never shone illumes her now: 

Hearken and pray and understand. 

Now, sable cowled, as he before, 

I bless the boats that sail to sea. 

And send to them from Capri's shore 
The benison not meant for me. 



ON THE HACKENSACK MEADOWS, 



Clear, wild, and free upon the twilight plain 

The prairie fire swept on with lightsome dance. 
Now stooping to the earth, then high again 

Darting toward the sky with tongue and lance: 
With wreaths of serpents coiled in smoky gold,. 

And transient stars that blazed and fell away: 
While to the stream its fervid volume rolled 

Where quench'd its flame in scatter'd ashes gray. 

Lo. Fitter symbol than an arrow's flight. 

Or grass that grows to fall beneath the scythe — 

Of transitory life is this weird light 

Entwined with cloud so both together writhe. 

And drift and waver, till their glamour dies 

In the low sedge where yon dark river lies. 



ESCAMBIA. 



Were I a dreamer, seeking only rest 

Or sweet cessation from unwelcome toil. 
Within these gentle forests, it were blest 

To lie at ease upon this sun-kissed soil. 
Sharing with nature all her idleness 

And all her bounty of bright summer flowers: 
Her warm airs gently wafted with the stress 

Such as loved lips may breathe in loving hours. 

For not in Arcady was softer calm, 

And not on Hermon were light winds more free. 
Nor yet more slender is far Egypt's palm, 

Than are these pines. Nor yet o'er land or sea 
Lies sky more azure. Here from morn to night 

Might dreamer dream with drowsy, slow delight. 



SANTA ROSA, 



Eroad oaks and trailing moss and barren sand 
Level and deep and drifted as the snow 
In the far north where yet the spring tide glow 

Had yet no promise. On the sultry strand 
The little ebb and flow of sleepy waves, 
And, from the way apart, a field of graves 

Whereon was sun and silence, and the tomb 

Knew grace of roses budding and in bloom. 

And oft, when cold upon the Tappan Zee 

The north wind blows, comes memory to me 
Of deep white sands beneath the sultry flood 

Of noontide sunshine; and gray-bearded trees 
With silence undisturbed by breath of breeze: 

And dream of scentless roses, bloom and bud. 
182 



LILY AND VIOLET. 



I saw a Calla lily's stately growth 

Swerve in the passing breeze, in garden soil 
Nurtured with gentle care. And nothing loth 

To wear its beauty, I wnth eager toil 
Strode far to grasp it, till its pallid grace 

Lay .captive in my warm enfolding hand. 
But soon I murmured — I did foolish chase 

A phantom charm. For not in all the land 
Blooms there a flower so scentless: drooping lies 

The veined, involute leaf. The golden core 
Scatters dead dust: nor evermore shall rise 

The waxen stateliness I knew before. 
Vain is my trust, and all my hope is vain — 

I flung it by, nor sought for it again. 
183 



i84 LILY AND VIOLET. 

II. 
Calm and sedate, as one who, dangers past. 

Forever hence takes heed upon his way, 
I sought a forest's shade where sunshine cast 

Through slow stirred branches many a soft ray 
In wav'ring fretwork. There in mellow light. 

Amid the shadowing ferns, a violet grew 
In waxen beauty. And my envious sight 

Noted its slender grace that charmed anew 
With each new glance. So, Fain was I to wear 

This w^hite, sweet bourgeon of the dreamy day. 
With petals trembling as I reached it, fair 

Within my folding hand it cherished lay. 
It still I hold while eve with day is blent; 
The treasured guerdon of a heart content. 



TWO ROSES. 



There grew twin roses, each on swaying stalk, 

In the pale splendor of an Asian morn, 
When passed the angel Azrael by the walk 

That led from Eden, where of hope forlorn 
Earth's first transgressor went. And one was red, 

Full blown, luxuriant, and the gleaming dew 
Nestled in fragrance in its petals spread. 

And one was budding yet, and white, where through 
The dark green foliage slow the sunbeams crept 

To kiss it coldly. Softly there the twain — 
Passion and pureness — in the morning slept. 

And which will wither when I come again! 
Low whispered Azrael in the dawning day: 

For love may die; and love may live alway! 
185 



1 86 TIVO ROSES. 



There clung two roses, when the Asian sun 

Touched the horizon at its western rim, 
And twilight fell. In glowing purple, one 

Dropped withered petals to the shadows dim, 
On the dark earth beneath. And one, like snow, 

With heart unfolded to the azure sky, 
Lay fair and bright while darkness gathered slow. 

And Azrael, whispering softly, drew anigh. 
Which of the twain has withered? Stainless lies 

The calm, white bloom, from dawn to dusk and on 
To farther morn ? And then in sober wise. 

He gathered the red petals and was gone. 
The white flower bloomed when shone the farther 

day — 
For love may die; and love may live alway. 



MAGNOLIA GRANDIFLORA, 



It bore the blossom of a southern land, 

The leaf that sways where summer ever glows. 
Beside it grew the oak, on either hand 

The buoyant foliage of the maple rose, 
And purple beeches drooped. From wooded hills 

Came winds that had the coolness of the shade 
And freshness of the growing grass that fills 

The dusk recesses of each mountain glade. 

A tropic bud on adverse air had thrown 
The odor of its heart, its snowy bloom 
That withered ere to northern foliage known 

Was touch of frost or autumn's softened gloom- 
So One I knew died 'neath earth's alien skies, 
Child of the sunnier land of old called*Paradise. 



